


Toussaint for Your Trouble

by DeanisBatman



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Creatures, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt needs to use his big boy words, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier thirsts for his Witcher, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mystery, Non-Consensual Body Modification, One-Sided Attraction, Original Characters - Freeform, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Roach Ships It (The Witcher), Roach is So Done (The Witcher), Roach is a good bro, Slow Burn, Tagging as I go, Timeline What Timeline, Werewolves, he can do it probably, maybe not, monosyllables are NOT words Geralt, temporarily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 46,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24087529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanisBatman/pseuds/DeanisBatman
Summary: Jaskier is madly in love with his Witcher, not that Geralt needs to know that, and the Witcher is hiding a secret that may cost them both dearly. Join our boys on a romp through Toussaint where there will be fine wine, good cheese, bad puns, and a mystery.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 217
Kudos: 217
Collections: witcher stuff





	1. The Witcher has a Secret

**Author's Note:**

> I am new to this fandom and was introduced to it through the games and Netflix so, please, feel free to point any factual inaccuracies so that I can correct them. <3

A crisp fall breeze danced through the fields of barley that rolled gracefully along both sides of the well-worn road to Toussaint. Jaskier played a few mindless notes on his lute, fingers plucking the strings gently as he let his eyes fall closed against the sun's warm rays. Roach walked beside him, a steady, comforting presence. After a moment of contentment, the bard opened his eyes and glanced up at Geralt. The Witcher was as impervious as always, swaying from side to side with each step Roach took. 

"You have yet to disclose the nature of this mysterious contract, Geralt," Jaskier wheedled, pulling a high note and then releasing it with a sharp _twang_. "Not that I am complaining, far from it. I am merely curious about what strange new creature you will be facing down next." 

"Hmm." 

The ambiguous hum was the same one that had met every inquiry about their destination. Geralt had been especially monosyllabic since he announced a week previously that they would be traveling to Toussaint, the home of wine and good cheese. Jaskier was actually looking forward to wooing a crowd or ten with his best ballads and tales. Still, it was an unscratched itch being left out of the loop on why they were going there.

"Another Striga, perhaps? Or a Bruxa? A Succubus, perhaps? I'm just naming monsters I know of," he admitted with a brief sigh. "Geralt, at least give me the decency of knowing if we are going to be paid well? I am rather looking forward to a nice lovely rest in Toussaint. Our combined coin could give us a wonderful holiday, indeed." 

Jaskier brightened significantly at the prospect of a few weeks spent off the dusty road. He began to play a jaunty dance tune, skipping every few steps to the beat. Beside him, Roach gave an annoyed huff, and she thwacked him across the shoulder with her tail. 

"There will be no pay," Geralt said. It was the longest sentence he had spoken outside of whispered conversations with Roach since the entire venture had begun. 

Jaskier was at a loss. Killing creatures for pay was what Witchers _did_. He had never even heard of a Witcher refusing payment for a job. It was unsettling. He hugged the lute to his chest and gave Geralt a long look. "Are you in trouble, dear friend? Is that why you have been silent on this subject up until now?" 

"No." 

Jaskier sighed sadly and ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose you wouldn't tell me even if you were in dire straights. Well, whatever madness you have come to face," the bard straightened his shoulders and jutted out his chin, "then I shall face it with you."

"No."

"No!" Jaskier exclaimed in disbelief, tripping over his feet in his surprise. "What do you mean, no, Geralt?" he demanded, steadying himself. "Of course, I shall go with you."

The Witcher turned in his seat and glared down at Jaskier, golden eyes piercing. "It's nothing to worry about." 

This claim only caused the younger man's pulse to jump spectacularly. To have the Witcher go out of his way to deny something like this could only mean that he was trying to protect Jaskier from something sinister at work in Toussaint. That was the only possible explanation that made any sort of logical sense. Perhaps his friend did not want his support, but Jaskier was going to give it anyway. He kept that promise silent, though, since Geralt was clearly not comfortable sharing the truth. That hurt. 

They walked in silence for the next few hours. Eventually, Jaskier's heart lightened, and he returned to his usual round of songs. The day was too beautiful to waste worrying over what would happen next. He could let it sit in the back of his mind, ignored until they reached the prosperous city. 

-

The Nilfgaard duchy was beautiful with well-kept farms and well-fed workers out among the fields. Jaskier thought back to some of the wasted away farmhands he had come across in his journeys, and a melancholy feeling seeped into his chest. As the son of a viscount, he had not realized the actual depth of neglect most of the Continent fell under until he started to travel with Geralt. It was nice to see that at least some cities cared about their citizens. 

"Beautiful, isn't it, Geralt?" Jaskier asked as they crested a rise, and the entire expanse of Toussaint stretched out before them. 

Sun glinted off the castle spires and plain brown roofs of the town's sprawling urban landscape. Beyond the glimmer of water pooled around the city in cerulean blue. The entire breathtaking view was completed by staggering, gorgeous mountains in the distance. A lump formed in the bard's throat as he contemplated the scene. It was the subject of enough songs and poems that he did not feel the need to craft his own, but it was a near thing. 

"Hmm," the grateful hum agreed with his assessment. 

A warm smile spread across his face at the sound, and Jaskier let himself relax. Whatever they were about to face together, at least there would be a striking setting for his next heroic tale. 

The first inn they came upon was full as was the next. It was not until they asked a third that a tired barmaid clucked in irritation and informed them that the regional holiday of the Festival of the Vat was in a week. Jaskier's excitement tripled at the thought of being present for such a joyous occasion. 

"We can stay, can't we, Geralt?" he begged, lute strapped to his back as he painted a picture with words. "Gorgeous, sparsely clothed maidens glowing with youth. Lips soft as a sunset rose. They stomp the wine, you see, it's all very traditional. Ah, the wine! Geralt, Toussaint always serves the finest of drinks. During the Festival of the Vat, they bring out the aged wines that have been waiting over a generation for someone with my-our discerning sensibilities to come and taste their sweet nectar. Hmm. Nectar." Jaskier lost himself to visions of half-naked women dancing in vats of crimson grapes. 

Geralt dismounted and led Roach by the reins. "You can stay for it," he said with a half-shrug. The implied, _but I won't be_ hit the bard's chest like a physical blow. 

"But the wine, Geralt. The women! The inns full of merry rousers waiting to hear tales of your deeds!" Jaskier knew it was a lost cause when the Witcher gave him a half-grimace, half-smile of regret. It was true then. They would miss the best holiday of the year for the sake of some mysterious creature hunt. The younger man sighed heavily and let his shoulders fall. "Fine. Where are we going first?" 

"You're not coming with me for this one," Geralt said firmly. 

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest vehemently when he noticed how hard the Witcher was gripping Roach's reins, his knuckles pale white. He closed his mouth again and followed his friend silently through the busy streets. 

-

When they finally found an inn with a free room Jaskier was ready to collapse with relief. A bath was exactly what he needed after several long days on the road since their last stop. Geralt ordered a bath and dinner brought up to their room. He then went about divesting himself of his travel dusted armor. 

Jaskier sat on his bed, strumming a non-sense rhythm on the lute. He let his eyes wander over the play of muscles beneath the Witcher's undershirt and the shapely curve of his ass when the other man bent over to retrieve something from his bag. It was not the first time the bard had found himself wondering what it would be like to trace those muscles under his talented fingers. 

A hot blush started up his chest at the thought, and Jaskier resolutely turned his attention away from the captivating Witcher. They were friends, nothing more, and even that was a stretch some days if you listened to Geralt. A forlorn puff of air escaped the bard when he let himself fall onto his back to gaze at the ceiling. 

"I really am sad we will miss the Festival of the Vat," he said. 

"Then don't," was Geralt's dry rejoinder. 

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who's best friend is hiding some dark, sinister contract that will undoubtedly lead to pain of some sort. Plus, some no doubt extraordinary song lyrics," Jaskier said without bitterness. He had known what he was getting into the moment he chose to follow the Witcher. Mystery, darkness, pain, brilliance, irritation, fondness, a deep sort of longing, and, of course, verbal brevity. He had signed up for it. "When do we head out?" 

"I'm going out tomorrow morning," Geralt replied, emphasizing the first word with a growl. "I should be back within a day. Two at most." 

Jaskier stood and walked over to the window. The sun was setting, creating a lovely pale gold and pink palette across the castle's arches visible to the right. Below the streets were still lively with people rushing to and fro, laughing and arguing. 

At that moment, he wished everyone else would just fuck off and leave him alone with is Witcher. Instead, his friend was determined to go out there, somewhere, to do something entirely alone. It was infuriating. Jaskier tugged at his bangs in frustration. 

A knock sounded at the door, and Geralt opened it. A tray of food was placed on the small table on one side of the room. A wooden bath was set up in the middle of the room, and several teenagers carried in buckets of steaming water to fill it before filing out with hooded glances at the Witcher. No one in Toussaint had been outright prejudice against the Witcher yet, and for that, Jaskier was thankful. 

"You seem bound and determined to keep me out of your hair for whatever it is you plan to do for the next two days," Jaskier admitted. 

Geralt stripped of his clothes and settled into the bath. 

"I am assuming it has nothing to do with bedding a woman...or man," he said. 

"It does not," Geralt agreed readily. His head tipped back against the bath edge, body lax in the water that was most likely still too scalding for a human. "Stop fishing, Jaskier." 

The bard huffed out a humorless laugh. "Perhaps I might if you would give me at least a hint. For all, I know you are heading out alone to face another dragon." 

"It's not a dragon," Geralt said, sinking lower into the water with a satisfied hum. 

"Well, we know that it's not a dragon or a romantic conquest," Jaskier said, counting out on his fingers, "or a Zander." He grumbled under his breath, "whatever the living fuck those even are." 

The edge of Geralt's lips tipped upward for a moment in what was practically a smile for the man. Jaskier felt a warm glow in his chest that fluttered and then died almost immediately. He was worried his friend was going to go out alone, die in some appropriately bloody way, and that he would never see him again. It set a vice around his heart, but pushing was getting him nowhere. 

"Allow me," Jaskier said when Geralt moved to untie his long silver hair. 

He needed the physical connection to the Witcher just to reassure himself the man was going to be alright. Untying the black strip of cloth that had been used to keep the hair back, Jaskier washed it gently but thoroughly. His fingers scratched lightly across the Witcher's scalp, and a hum of approval from Geralt sent a frisson of heat straight down Jaskier's spine. He bit his lip hard to stop himself from making an embarrassing sound. 

"Why don't you want me to help you?" he asked instead, voice much more soft and uncertain than he meant it to be, broken a bit at the end. 

Under his fingers, Geralt tensed momentarily. "It's not that I don't want you…" 

There was a long pause during which Jaskier's brain blanked out for a long moment as he fantasized about that being the end of the sentence. Being wanted by the Witcher. 

"Your help is not needed." Geralt finished finally, his shoulders shrugging in the cooling water. "You can stay at the inn, sing for the crowds, and enjoy your wine." 

"That is hardly the point of our relatio- _partnership_ ," Jaskier corrected himself with a wince. "But fine, have it your way." He playfully shoved the Witcher's head forward and then stood to find some scented salts for the bath. 

If all they would ever be was friends, that was fine. He could do that. Shaking off his infatuation with the Witcher, Jaskier returned his focus to the point at hand. He selected a pinch of salt and tossed it into the water. Geralt watched through nearly closed eyes, slivers of gold moving as Jaskier walked back to the bed to collapse. 

"I supposed there will be plenty of coins to be made in this inn if I can talk the owner into letting me have a few hours in the evening tomorrow," he mused aloud. "That will at least make up for the fact that your enigma of a contract will be paying us exactly zero." 

"There will be more contracts around for us to claim. There always are," Geralt said. He cast an Igni, and the water began to steam again. 

The Witcher let out a pleased groan and settled even deeper in the water with his chin resting on his chest. He looked positively delicious. Jaskier forced his gaze to the ceiling, making himself think back to those lovely scantily clad women crushing grapes between their toes. There was no comparison, really. He huffed in frustration and grabbed for his lute to let the music wash away his unrequited crush. 

The next day he would follow Geralt and see precisely what business he had in the great city of Toussaint. 


	2. Jaskier's Got This! He's Got Thi-He Doesn't Got This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets himself into a bit of a bind while Geralt goes to meet an old friend...or foe....who's to know.

The day dawned with birdsong and the usual hustle and bustle of a large city coming to life. Jaskier wanted to burrow further under the blankets and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, Geralt was already moving around the room. The sound of him donning the armor and rustling through his gear let Jaskier know the Witcher did not intend to return until after his secret contract was complete. The bard knew there was no way he could trick the other man into believing he was still asleep, so instead, he yawned loudly and stretched his hands above his head.

"Good morning, dear friend," he said, letting the blankets pool around his waist as he sat up, feeling as rumpled as he no doubt looked. "Off to your little _thing_ , then are you?" 

Geralt sent him a bemused glance before he slung his swords over one shoulder. "I'll be back soon. Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone." 

"Me get in trouble?" Jaskier sputtered. "You're the one who is always walking around covered in guts and blood." 

"Hmm." 

"Well, good luck on your little jaunt into whatever mess you have cooked up for yourself." The bard crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. "Frankly, I'm appalled at your complete lack of survival instincts. Anyone in their right mind would accept a little friendly backup." 

"Hmm." 

For fuck sake, could the man be any more frustrating. Jaskier rolled his eyes and did not have to fake one inch of the put-upon image he was projecting. Geralt gave him one last golden glance over one shoulder before leaving the room and closing the door. 

Jaskier hurried to dress. He knew that the Witcher would waste little time in slipping away to parts unknown, so he would have to be fast. 

-

Geralt ignored the claustrophobic press of people around him as he wove his way through the streets of Toussaint. He hoped Jaskier would not get into too much trouble while he was gone. The bard had an unerring ability to find the one situation that should be avoided and get himself stuck right in the middle of it. Hopefully, the upcoming festivities would keep the man occupied until Geralt could conclude his business and get out of the godforsaken city. 

There was nothing inherently bad about Toussaint on the surface, but the Witcher knew monsters were no stranger to the city. It actually had a record number of them living in parallel with their human counterparts. They were unseen and unnoticed, well below the surface in the sprawling catacombs that no one had dared to map out beyond a few small areas. Vampires being the least of the monsters living below in the darkness. 

He wanted to finish his business and get himself and his bard out of there before something evil could bubble up to the surface and drown them. A bloody war between monsters and humans was inevitable, but not today. Not this year. Geralt would see to that. He had a promise to keep. 

-

Jaskier surreptitiously followed his Witcher, moving from doorway to doorway, and stall to stall as they made it to the market district. People gave him strange looks, but no one said anything. 

It was lucky for him there were so many people there for the festival, clogging up the streets. Otherwise, the Witcher would have no doubt sensed him in some way already. Scent probably, the man was a hound dog when it came to smell. Thankfully, the press of people and the fact that Geralt was not expecting to be followed by the bard would work in his favor. 

They were headed towards the western edge of the city, where the houses were slowly starting to grow further and further apart. Jaskier cursed when Geralt turned abruptly down an alleyway. There would be no hiding places there. Ducking beside the mouth of the alley, back against the wood structure beside him, he peeked around the corner. 

Geralt was standing in front of a small side door a few dozen yards away. After a long moment, the door opened, and the Witcher was ushered inside by a wrinkled old man with an untamed head of white hair. The second the door closed behind them, Jaskier hurried forward and pressed his ear against the door's thin wooden planks. He could just make out the muffled voices inside. 

"-o we know where he is now?" the Witcher was asking. 

"Of course. Here, I wrote it down for you," a male voice, presumably the man who had opened the door. "I do not have to warn you that this is highly dangerous, Witcher." 

Jaskier's heartbeat skipped at the words. He knew it. Geralt really was a giant, emotionally constipated idiot. 

"I'll return with proof," Geralt said firmly. 

Jaskier could clearly hear the unspoken _or die trying_ that was implied with all the Witcher's dealings. It tore at something in the bard's chest. He knew he had seconds to get out of sight, so he did not linger and sprinted towards the main road, stepping as lightly as possible. Once there, he hid behind a tidy pile of firewood stacked in front of a nearby residence. 

Geralt appeared a minute later. He had a paper in his hand and was looking it over carefully. Those golden eyes were no doubt memorizing every detail before he folded it and stuffed it into a pocket. 

Then they were on the move again. Jaskier stayed far enough away so that he could just see the Witcher's white hair bobbing among the ever-increasing crowd as early risers joined the day. 

The sun was starting to rise higher in the pale blue sky, brilliant warmth spilling over the city. Jaskier wished he could stop and enjoy it, but he was too worried about his friend. It only occurred to the bard at that moment that he had no form of weapon to defend himself. He could hardly hope to assist Geralt if he could not even protect himself from an attack. 

Cursing his oversight, Jaskier waited until he saw another stall with wares and ducked quickly inside. It took two precious minutes and two gold coins to get the largest, sharpest kitchen knife the seller had on hand. He slipped it into his boot. Then he took off at a run in the direction Geralt had been moving in, hoping against hope that the man had not turned down any more alleys. 

His heart was hammering painfully in his chest when he finally, mercifully caught sight of his friend ten minutes later near an old, run-down temple. Everyone was avoiding it, but there did not appear to be anything sinister about the place. Jaskier watched Geralt stride purposefully to a smaller entrance to the side of the main temple doors and disappear inside. 

Tension thrummed through him like an overtight lute string, but Jaskier pushed away his unease and moved forward to follow his friend. 

-

The temple stank of mold from where rainwater had trickled through gaps in the unmaintained ceiling. Geralt ignored the smell and turned right as soon as he got through the small doorway. He walked confidently down a long hall, and then when it branched left, he followed the new corridor with its noticeably downward slant. 

Monsters had been this way, but not for at least several weeks. Their scent, mixed with blood, was old, and the claw marks scratched out along the floor were covered in a thin layer of dust. Geralt drew his silver sword and let it rest against his shoulder as he traveled deeper until the stone walls of the temple gave way to packed dirt from the catacombs. He had already swallowed down one Cat and had more ready if necessary. 

Not knowing what he might run into left Geralt on edge. He was glad Jaskier was not here. It would have been bad enough with the bard's ever-present chattering and songs announcing their presence, but his friend would have also been stumbling around blind in the sheer darkness of the underground. 

His bard was safely tucked away in the inn, no doubt getting close to one of the younger barmaids while waxing poetic about one made up tale or another. Knowing that was enough to keep him entirely focused on the task at hand. The map had been crude, but easy enough to follow. He had two more turns and then a long stretch before he would reach the agreed-upon meeting place. 

-

Jaskier cursed under his breath as he ran nose-first into the wall. Again. Why had he thought it a good idea to come after the Witcher without procuring a light source. At the time, he had not wanted to lose the Witcher's trail. Now he was completely blind, turned around, and unable to do anything about the situation.

When Geralt had disappeared into the temple, Jaskier had been sure he was there to get a contract from some old hag of a priestess, but instead, the Witcher had simply walked down a very, very long hall. Jaskier had needed to stay several minutes behind the other man to avoid detection. Still, the hall had yet to split off or branch that he had noticed. 

The aforementioned blindness certainly hindered his ability to actually know for sure if he was still in the same hall. He rubbed at his sore nose and slapped the wall in a fit of frustration. Jaskier froze, a shiver moving down his spine. The wall was not stone but packed dirt. That meant he must have somehow wandered off his friend's trail and into a side tunnel. He moaned in frustration and leaned against the wall and slid down until he was sitting. At that moment, he would have given his last coin for his lute so he could play an appropriately somber song.

He touched the knife in his boot, reassuring himself that it was still there. At least if he was attacked in the godforsaken darkness, he would have some way of defending himself. The bard had to physically restrain himself from shouting for Geralt by slapping a hand across his mouth. Another pitiful groan was the only sound he allowed himself. 

His Witcher had been right. Of course, he had been right. Jaskier was nothing but a nuisance. Worthless and absolutely not what someone would want as any form of backup. He had been kidding himself that he could ever truly help his friend. 

The bard gave a heartfelt sigh and decided that the best thing to do would be to find his way back to the surface, return to the inn, and lick his wounds. There was small mercy in that he was the only one to witness his own ineptitude. Geralt would never have to know how useless he truly was as a companion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback highly encouraged. Let me know how you like it. :D Love you guys!


	3. Aaand They're Fucked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier remembers the Countess de Stael. Geralt is going to kill his bard.

Honestly, how hard could it possibly be to find the main temple corridor. Jaskier had been at it for what felt like hours after he had picked himself up off the ground and chosen a direction, one hand trailing the wall to check for any breaks. Time seemed to flow differently in the pitch black. He wondered if Geralt had completed his task and returned to the inn to find their room empty. 

The lessening of light when Jaskier had initially entered had been so gradual. It had not genuinely alarmed him until he found himself facing that dirt wall. The bard had been so sure that at any moment he would break through to a central lit temple room. Now he was stuck wandering. 

At least he did not have to worry about monsters hiding in these cold depths. Toussaint was a civilized city and, besides, any temple worth its name would have purged monsters from their premises. Except. Except Geralt had entered, and he went towards the _monsters_. Jaskier swallowed thickly at the thought, the darkness suddenly much more ominous, an impenetrable inky blackness closing in on him. His fingers reached for the safety of the lute that was not on his back, a well-worn habit. 

Geralt was going to laugh at him. The thought stung his eyes with stray tears, but he brushed them away angrily. He deserved it for stumbling into this mess headlong without a plan or...well, anything. A sob clung inside his chest, and he smothered it. There was no point in feeling sorry for himself. 

The hand that had been trailing the wall hit dead air, and Jaskier froze. He cocked his head towards the emptiness and listened. There was no sound. The bard bit his lip, but then he remembered what the Countess de Stael had said when she explained how to get free of her garden maze during one of their mid-afternoon picnics at her estate. 

_“Keep your right hand on the hedges and follow it. Eventually, you will get to the exit. Just always follow the wall on your right,” she had laughed - a musical, genuine sound, “and whatever you do, don’t stay out after dark. The groundsmen have been whispering about rusalki in the lake, and I simply will not have you cavorting with Naiads.”_

Jaskier still missed the Countess dearly. She had been his first love and had woken up the music in his heart. Even though his infatuation had waned, he would always owe her for that precious gift. Spirit feeling renewed, he set his jaw and squared his shoulders against the black around him, and it seemed to give way. 

He wiggled the fingers of his right hand, testing the empty air for temperature change. There was none. Making a decision, he turned right and firmly replanted his hand on the new wall. The floor had seemed to flatten out. At least he was not going down any longer. Perhaps with time, it would begin to slope back upwards. With that fleeting hope, he picked up the pace. 

-

The meeting place was deserted, but Geralt knew he had arrived a little early. It had been intentional so he could ensure that no unwanted listeners were skulking in the tunnels nearby. They were not, so he returned to wait. 

The room had sconces spaced all around the perimeter with unlit torches that he had no need for with Cat still burning through his veins. The only furniture was two wooden stools, and Geralt took a seat, resting his silver sword over his knees. 

“Ah, I sssee you made it,” a low voice hissed from the darkness. 

“I made a vow,” Geralt replied simply. 

“Yesss you did. Witcher honor. Good to sssee it ssstill ssstands firm.” 

The creature that stepped out of the far tunnel and into the room was humanoid in shape with limbs that were a bit too long and very thin. Fourteen fingers ended in jagged claws that clicked against one another from where they peeked out beneath the long robe it wore. Most of its face was hidden under a shadowed cowl, but Geralt recognized the smell. His grip tightened around the sword handle. Twin orbs of supernatural light followed the movement. 

“Cautiousss, asss alwaysss. No need, however,” the creature said, waving a hand in the air. “To busssinesss.”

A long tongue snaked out from under the hood. It flicked through the air, smelling for any sign of intruders before disappearing again. The creature was just as cautious about interlopers as the Witcher. Thankfully he had kept Jaskier away. The bard was free game down in the catacombs. The Witcher’s vow did not extend past the promise of his own safety. 

“Do you have any evidence of who has been entering the catacombs? Are they human or something else?” Geralt asked. 

He, too, was ready to complete this wretched meeting and get back into the city. He ignored the ever-present need to _killhuntdestroy_ that thrummed through his body in the presence of something so obviously maleficent. His hand literally ached with the desire to raise his sword and be done with this the old fashioned way, but he ruthlessly stamped out the impulse. 

The creature never really stopped moving. It swayed back and forth under the long, dark robe. It was starting to give the Witcher a headache. He ignored it. 

“In a moment, Witcher.” 

Something slipped out from between its clawed fingers, and suddenly the torches were all blindingly alight. Geralt could not stop the harsh exhale of pain from the sudden flame. He dug through the bag, strapped to his waist, and quickly downed a White Honey. After a moment of prolonged agony as it razed the toxins from his blood, he could finally see again. 

The creature waited patiently, apparently expecting the interruption. Geralt wondered if it had been done on purposes so that more of its kind could sneak to the tunnel mouths unseen. He breathed in deeply, but there were no new scents. Satisfied, but feeling off-kilter, he stood to his feet and paced with his sword tapping against his leg. 

“Do you know anything or not,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. 

The thing gave a hissed laugh. “Lesss than I would like. They are human, one of my kind sssaw it leaving a lower level, but it had magic protectionsss.” 

“Potions? Or was it accompanied by a magic wielder?” the Witcher asked. 

The cowl shook back and forth. “No one knowsss. If there were othersss they got out before being ssseen.” 

“Can you give me directions to where they exited the catacombs?” Geralt asked. 

“Here.” The creature dug into an inner pocket and pulled out a vial of something green and incandescent. “Drink thisss, and it will lead you directly there. A map is too much of a risssk. The one you have on you ssshould be dessstroyed.” 

Geralt tensed. Someone must have been following him earlier when he had visited Old Ben. The Witcher had thought he heard a heartbeat, but it had been gone so quickly he had ignored it. He had been reckless, lax. His jaw muscle jumped. 

“Fine.”

He took several long strides forward, grabbed the vial, and retreated quickly. “Meet back here in twenty-four hours. I should have some news by then,” he said. 

“You better. I cannot control the younger onesss when they feel threatened. Fix thisss, and we will be even.” 

The creature ducked its head in a slight bow and then turned and walked away. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s shocked voice spoke up suddenly from behind the Witcher.

He swung around, surprised by the unnoticed approach, sword automatically coming up. The bard looked terrible, covered head to toe in a layer of fine dirt, smudges on his face. Two dazed blue eyes stared over at him before they widened in fear. Geralt heard the creature hiss behind him, and he turned on his heel. 

“Broken promisssesss have consssequencesss, Witcher,” it hissed angrily before disappearing in a movement too fast for even the enhanced Witcher to follow. 

This was bad. It could be summoning an army of monsters at that very moment, and they were at least a twenty-minute fast run away from the surface. Jaskier looked exhausted, and the Witcher doubted he could sprint that far fast enough to avoid whatever would be coming for them. 

“Shit.” 

The bard walked into the room, looking around, swallowing hard as his blue gaze studied Witcher and noticed how tense he was holding himself. 

“Geralt? What’s going on?” 


	4. Consequences Suck Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt tangos with some baddies. Jaskier needs a hug, but won't allow himself to have one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never tried to write a full out fight scene before so I truly apologize if it is terrible. **runs to hide in a corner**

Geralt stared at his bard for a long moment, uncertain as to what he should do next. It was not a familiar feeling, and his gut twisted. This was not something he had anticipated having to deal with. Jaskier was peeking over his shoulder in the direction the creature had disappeared moments before. 

"What was that thing?" Jaskier asked. 

There was no time for explanations or standing around. Taking one of the torches off the wall, Geralt handed it to Jaskier, who took it with a frown. He stowed the green potion in his bag as he rounded the room, putting out all the other torches. 

"Geralt, answer me. What's going on, and what was that thing?" 

He pulled his other sword so that he had one in each hand. Then he used the silver one to point back in the direction the bard had appeared from. 

"We need to get out of the catacombs, now. Let's go," he ordered gruffly, biting back the urge to yell at the man for his recklessness. 

There would be time to curse his bard out later. When they were safe. Geralt started out at a demanding pace, the bard hesitating only a moment before jogging to catch up, the firelight bouncing with his steps. 

"Catacombs? We're in catacombs?" Jaskier sounded entirely out of sorts. 

Geralt felt worry for his friend and hot anger clawing at his chest, and he ignored them both. Instead, focusing on his other senses so that he would get at least some warning before they were attacked. The stink of fear and confusion was thick in the air between them. 

-

As per fucking usual, his Witcher was ignoring every reasonable question he asked. Now they were moving too quickly for Jaskier to repeat them again. He glared at the armored back in front of him. Just minutes before, he had seen light and thought that he had discovered an escape to the surface, but it had been only the light of torches. Geralt had not even tried to attack the unnatural creature that had hissed at Jaskier's arrival. None of this made any sense. 

He really wanted to ask, _'Seriously, what the actual fuck, Geralt?'_ , but did not have the breath for it. As it was, the bard was feeling himself tire, chest heaving with each step he took. It would not be long before his fear exhausted body gave out at the punishing pace Geralt was setting. 

At least he was no longer alone or in the dark. Small mercies. However, Geralt seemed genuinely anxious, and Jaskier had never seen the Witcher's stoic facade break in the face of monsters or men. They really must be in trouble. 

His second wind hit, and he sped up briefly, the flames illuminating the tunnel in front of and behind them. He glanced over his shoulder, but the light only extended a dozen feet or so before being swallowed in darkness. He wondered how many more of those things were out there. 

"Uh, Geralt, - can we - slow - down?" he asked between wheezes. 

"No," the reply was short and sharp. 

The man was clearly upset. Whatever that tall robed thing had been was not your typical monster. Geralt had not even tried to kill it. That still bothered the bard. If the Witcher's contract was not to rid the temple catacombs of whatever the hell that thing was, then why had he been down here with it. So many questions swirled around Jaskier's mind, but he had to stop thinking about the mysteriousness of it all and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. 

"They're coming," Geralt said, stopping so suddenly Jaskier ran into his back and had to fumble to stop the torch from lighting the Witcher's snowy mane on fire. "Get behind me," Geralt commanded. 

-

Jaskier huddled against the dirt wall of the tunnel at Geralt's back. If the creatures chose to come at them from both sides, they would be fucked. The bard was panting so heavily it was hard to hear anything else in the confined space, but the Witcher forced his senses outward. He could smell them coming, at least three. Young. Damn, that meant they would probably be even faster than the blur of motion he had witnessed earlier. 

The Witcher dug into his potion bag and pulled out three, one he handed to Jaskier and the others he downed in one gulp. Petri's Philter and Swallow. The familiar agonizing burn was grounding and left him prepared for the battle ahead. 

"What do I do with this?" Jaskier asked, holding up the third bottle. 

"Drink it," Geralt said. 

"Oh, really? I was planning to pour it over my head." Geralt could hear Jaskier's eye roll. "I meant, why did you give it to me to drink? I'm not a Witcher. Won't it kill me?" 

"No. Hurry, drink it." 

"Fine," the bard said. He saw the other man choke down the Maribor Forest in his peripheral vision. "Ugh, Geralt. That was vile." 

He could hear footsteps now at the edge of his senses. They were approaching way too quickly. If all three were as tall as the creature he had bargained with, then they were in trouble. 

"I kinda feel like I could lift a house, huh," Jaskier muttered. "What was in that potion?"

"Be ready to run," Geralt said. 

He held both swords up, elbows bent, and ready to take the shock of impact. Jaskier tensed at his side, the sounds the creatures made now audible to the human. Geralt would need to time it perfectly. If he swung too early, they would get past him and reach his bard, but if he swung too late, then there would not be enough momentum to give any significant damage. He tuned out every other sense and focused on the creature's hissed breathes, timing his own to match, leaning his body forward in anticipation. 

He swung hard. Both swords met walls of resistance. Twin shrieks of pain and rage deafened his sensitive ears. He kicked out at the body to his right, twisting left so that he could bring up his swords again before slicing them in the air at shoulder height. His silver sword must have hit an artery because hot blood spurted across his face and armor. 

A thin robed body thudded to the floor. That was one down. Claws sailed through the air towards his face, and Geralt raised his shoulder so that the armor took the hit. They shredded through the thick layers of leather and sank an inch into his shoulder, fourteen points of pain that he ignored. He swung with the sword held with the hand of his uninjured arm and felt the metal bite through to steely bone. The creature retreated into the darkness with hisses and shrieks of pain. 

Jaskier screamed. 

The third creature. 

Geralt turned and watched in horror as Jaskier crumpled to the floor of the tunnel, blood blooming from several lines across his stomach and chest. Rage boiled under the Witcher's skin, and he let out an unholy cry, dropping his metal sword so that he could focus all his strength on the silver one. Taking the hilt in both hands, he raised it above his head and charged at the creature. 

It retreated quickly, flashing forward to slash at his head in a movement he almost missed. He ducked away, but a moment too late and hot white strokes of pain slashed across his cheek and neck. Geralt listened for the hissed breathing of the two creatures, trying to triangulate their position while also anticipating their next move. It took all his focus, but he was able to intercept the next attack. 

His sword arched through the light given off by the fallen torch and struck true, digging deep into the thin chest of one of the creatures. Inexplicably, it had a kitchen knife buried in its shoulder. Jaskier must have come armed. He only had time to register it in a detached sort of way before he pulled his sword free and turned to face the last attacker.

The final creature shrieked in rage and anger, and pain. Geralt could smell that it was bleeding, but not a bad enough wound to kill. There was a blur, and the rush of air in the cavern around him and then the two fallen bodies of the creatures he had bested were gone, carried off by their comrade. Geralt did not give in to the desire to sink against the wall. Instead, he turned and knelt beside Jaskier. 

There was no time to assess the wound. Monstrous reinforcements could arrive at any moment. The Witcher scooped his bard into his arms and ran as fast as he could, letting his memory guide him through the inky darkness towards the surface. He should have done that at the beginning, he realized. He should have taken his wayward bard in his arms and spirited him away from danger, but he had not even considered it before. 

Guilt churned in his gut, and he used it to add more speed to his already breakneck pace. Skidding around corners and bouncing off the corridor walls, he gave a huff of relief when he saw the barest hint of light far ahead. 

-

Jaskier was going to destroy whatever cart had run him over. With extreme prejudice. His entire body ached, and his brain felt like it was trying to pound out of his head. He groaned in agony and tried to bring his hand up to massage his temples, but it flopped against his face. His nose stung at the unexpected weight. 

"G'rlt?" Jaskier asked.

It was dark. He must still be stuck in that stupid temple. No Geralt to save him from his own stupid mistakes. The bard sighed heavily and tried to remember why he hurt so badly. His thoughts were sluggish, but he thought he remembered firelight. He tried to push himself up. 

There was the sound of a door clicking shut somewhere nearby. Wait, there were doors. What the fuck. 

"Jaskier, don't move," Geralt's voice said. 

_What the fuck._

"G'rlt?" he tried again, groping towards his friend's voice with a numb hand. "How'd y' f'nd me?" It took an incredible amount of focus to get his mouth to form the words. "S' dark." 

There was a bemused sound and a puff of warm air on his face. It was the closest sound the Witcher ever came to a laugh. 

"Your eyes are closed, Jaskier."

"Hm?" He experimentally pried one eyelid up. "Oh. G'ess was. Huh." The light coming in through their room window was too bright, stabbing into his head, so he closed it again. "Fancy that." At least his mouth was starting to work again. "What happened?" 

"You don't remember?" Geralt asked sharply. 

Jaskier tensed. Right. He had been following his Witcher, directly against the man's explicit directions, and had gotten himself hopelessly lost underground. Not his finest moment. He licked his dry lips and held up one weak arm, palm out in surrender. 

"Now, I can explain," he started. 

The bed dipped when the Witcher sat beside him. "You are an idiot, and you almost got us both killed," Geralt said evenly. 

A knot formed in the bard's throat and his chest felt like it was caught under a massive rock. Hearing it stated so clearly and coldly was worse than being yelled at by his friend. It was true. The memories were coming back now. Running, a desperate fight, claws singing through the air at his head. He gasped and curled his hand over his injured chest, there were fresh bandages under his fingertips. He really was an epic failure of a human being, and it had nearly cost him his Witcher. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized softly. 

"Sorry doesn't mean anything, Jaskier," Geralt replied simply.

The bard heard everything his friend was not saying. _'Sorry doesn't mean jackshit if you never follow my orders. You're the reason we keep almost dying. How can I trust anything you say when your actions show that you will always do whatever you want regardless of how stupid or dangerous it is!'_ The mental chewing out he conjured was in Geralt's icy cold voice that he saved for the very worst people - the ones barely above a monster themselves. Jaskier certainly fit the bill. He willfully endangered someone that meant so much to him. 

The heat of shame bloomed across his face, and he bit his chapped lip to keep from letting his tears show. Geralt had every right to be upset. Jaskier half expected him to be gone by morning, rid of his useless companion. 

"I'm sorry," he repeated, not knowing what else to say in the face of his own failings. 


	5. Healing and Another Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier makes a friend. Geralt finds a potion.

Jaskier had fallen back into a restless sleep. His wounds and the potion had drained the human entirely, and Geralt doubted he would be fit to travel for at least another week. The bard would get his festival after all. If there was a Toussaint left to have it in. The Witcher paced back and forth between the door and the window of their small room. 

It had been a simple arrangement. One he did not enjoy, but _simple_. Get the answers the creature needed, and the monsters would stay hidden in their underground megalopolis. Now, he had less than twenty-four hours to stop an all-out assault on a city full of innocent people with no way to defend themselves. That damn festival had drawn at least three times the average crowd, which meant that it would be a slaughter-fest if he did not stop it. 

Geralt ran a hand through his hair, thick fingers catching on the knots there. He grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest as he tried to find some way out of the coming conflict. The most natural solution would be to find out who had been making trips down to the monster's territory from the surface. A peace offering to the creature which he had given his word to all those years before when he was younger and idealistic and _stupid_. He had the green bottle that hopefully was a map and not some dreadful, slow-acting poison meant to give him an agonizing death. It had been a long time ago, and the creature may not be as forgiving this time around. 

The Witcher stopped pacing and bowed his head, golden eyes sliding closed. He focused on Jaskier's breathing and his steady heartbeat. It could have so easily been stolen from him permanently. He should have known the bard would not be content to sit back at the inn and wait. He was always looking for content for those fucking songs of his. It was continually getting him a hairsbreadth away from being savagely murdered. 

His hands were shaking, Geralt noticed in a detached sort of way. He brought one up in front of his face and turned it, watching the fine tremor. He frowned. Maybe the creature's bite was venomous. He hurried over to his potions stores and downed a Golden Oriole. The last thing he needed was to collapse before completing his mission. 

He had to go take care of this before things got further out of hand, and people suffered. Geralt studied Jaskier's sleeping form, his face so young in sleep. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, and he blamed it on the potion. If he left without telling the bard, then no doubt, Jaskier would try going back to that damn temple or something equally ridiculous. 

The Witcher growled in frustration. He was tempted to tie the bard down and stuff a gag in his mouth to stop him from getting free until this whole thing was done, but someone would have to see to his injuries. He needed an ally. 

Old Ben. He perked up at the idea. The old man was friendly to Witchers, his daughter having been rescued from a fate worse than death by Eskel several decades before. He had been an assistant at the local apothecary at the time so he must know some medicine. Relief flooded through Geralt as he settled on the plan. Old Ben would stay at the inn and watch Jaskier while he went off and identified the intruders of the monster's underground territory. 

-

His hands were wrinkled and speckled with both faded scars and the dark brown spots of age. Benjamin tried to ignore the way they were a little too weak to keep the pan entirely still as he tried to scrub out the remnants of his burnt breakfast. He missed his daughter even as he felt indescribably joyful to see the way she was lit up from the inside with happiness in her life as a new mother. The local healers had given little hope to her ever being able to carry a baby to term, but Sarah was strong and always beat the odds. Now Ben had a tiny granddaughter, Genista. She left him breathless and so content on the days when otherwise he would have buried himself under the weight of his loneliness. 

A hard knock sounded at the door. Benjamin jumped at the unexpected sound, the pan slipping out of his hands to clatter noisily into the washbasin. He knew that knock. The Witcher was back, but it was too soon. Something must have gone wrong. Fear twisted in his gut as he wiped off his hands on a ragged towel and went to open the door. 

Geralt looked panicked in a way that only someone with a lifetime of experience in reading people could have noticed. To the rest of the world, he no doubt appeared as stoic as ever, but there was a slight tightening around his yellow eyes, the corners of his mouth flattened and turned down. Benjamin ushered the Witcher inside. 

"What has happened?" he asked. "You are injured." 

It was not until the words slipped out of his mouth that the old man truly registered the bloodied shoulder, armor torn to shreds in places. Benjamin hated his fading eyesight. Even the few feet that had separated them while the Witcher was outside had been enough to hide these tale-tell signs of a fight. Geralt also sported several cuts along his jaw and neck, thin and not very deep but clearly visible in the low light. A splatter of dried blood disappeared into his hair. 

"We should get those injuries seen to," Benjamin said firmly, already making his way carefully over to the cabinet that held his healing herbs. 

"No need," Geralt said. 

Benjamin turned with a heavy frown. "If you have not come to be healed, then why…" he let his words trail off as a horrible thought entered his mind. "Is the city in trouble, Witcher? Should we evacuate? I have my daughter and her baby to think about." 

Geralt winced but shook his head at the rapid questions. "No. I'll fix it. Everything will be fine, but I have a favor to ask of you." 

A gentle smile took over Benjamin's face. He knew that look. The Witcher had a personal request and did not feel like he deserved to ask it. All Witchers were the same in that regard. He was but a weak old man and his heart could not bear to see that expression on the man's face any longer. 

"Anything, dear Witcher," he said simply. 

"Thank you," there was so much relief stuffed into those words it was a wonder the Witcher was still standing ramrod straight. "You'll need those after all," Geralt said, motioning towards the cabinet with his chin, "just not for me." 

"Right." Benjamin nodded and retrieved a bag before filling it with anything that might be remotely useful. "Tell me everything." 

-

Jaskier grimaced at the pounding in his head and tried to turn over, but pain shot through his chest and stomach. He cried out and curled around the points of pain, trying to will them away. That was when he remembered what had happened. Right. He had screwed up again. 

"Geralt?" he called, glancing up into their room with pain rimmed eyes. 

His gaze met that of a stranger. Wait, not a stranger, the same old man who had provided Geralt a map to the catacombs. 

"Your Witcher friend has gone off to do some necessary work. He will be back safe and sound shortly," the old man said. 

"Who are you?" the bard asked, carefully positioning his pillow so that he could sit up a bit higher on the bed. "Why are you here? Where did Geralt go?" A desperate sort of worry was making his voice go high. 

The old man patted Jaskier's legs gently over the blanket that was covering them. "Not to worry, my friend. He has his work to do. You have yours." 

Jaskier frowned in confusion. "I-What?" 

The old man smiled. "Healing. That is your job right now."

A strong urge to yell at the man bubbled up inside Jaskier, but he knew it was just his worry for Geralt, and besides, the man beside him had done nothing to warrant angry words spoken hastily. He bit them back and crossed his arms over his aching chest. 

"Who are you?" he asked again. 

"Benjamin Odair, but everyone just calls me Old Ben," the man said with the same soft smile. His eyes sparkled. "Now, how about we get some food in you. Your Witcher friend said that you had not eaten." 

"Not as such," Jaskier admitted, grumbling under his breath about Witchers and their gods damned secrets as he struggled to sit up even straighter. He did not like feeling exposed. 

"I will go fetch us a meal then," Old Ben said, moving towards the door. 

Jaskier watched him go and wondered where his Witcher had gotten off to in the meantime. He had probably gone back in those fucking catacombs to be murdered. The bard scrubbed a hand across his face and then let it flop back down to his side. There was nothing for it. He would eat and then figure out his next move. 

-

It smelled like rotten eggs, pig innards, and week-old kitchen slop. Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose and focused his senses. This was a much more active part of the catacombs if that gods awful scent was anything to go by. At least two humans had been killed there less than a week ago. 

This was the spot where the green potion stopped. It had led him here and no further. That must mean that the quarry he chased had last been seen in this very tunnel. He needed to find some clue he could follow back to the source. The shed blood was unhelpful as those who it belonged to were long dead. The monster smells were equally useless since he was searching for signs of a human interloper. One with magical protections, he reminded himself. 

The magic residue would be harder to spot. He would need to use the necklace. Removing a glove, he grasped the wolf's head medallion, the metal cold against his naturally overheated skin. He began to pace from one side of the tunnel to the other in slow arcs that had him moving slowly back the way he had come. 

Three minutes later, the medallion gave a weak shudder under his fingertips. He stopped and looked around carefully. There was something on the ground half-buried in the dirt. He knelt and picked it up with his gloved hand, squinting. Even with Cat, it was hard to read the tiny inscription on the shard of glass. 

He finally deciphered the chicken scratch handwriting. _Petri's Philter_. It must have been drunk right before someone used a sign. The residual magic enough for the medallion to pick up. 

"Damn," he muttered aloud, pocketing the shard as he stood. 

He would trace the seller later in the market and maybe get a description of the buyer. For now, he knew that the human or someone with him had known how to use signs. A mage then or sorceress. Not a Witcher. The whole thing just got more complicated. He pulled on his glove and started back out of the catacombs. Lingering would only invite trouble, and he already had what he needed. 


	6. Mages be Cray-Cray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier indulges in a pun time. Geralt finds signs of trouble.

The potion had been sold to a young man by the name of Gilbert. He lived over by the water edge based on what Geralt had learned in the market. He had ducked into every single stall that sold potions and finally matched the writing to that of a particularly waspish woman he hoped never to meet again. 

He wanted to go check on Jaskier, but time was of the essence, and Old Ben could be trusted. Instead, he walked right past the inn's entrance and headed for the stable. Roach greeted him with a fond neigh and bumped his injured shoulder as if to say 'what did you do this time, dumbass,' but it was a tender touch and did not hurt. 

"I'm fine," he replied to the unspoken concern.

This did not seem to satisfy the horse, and Roach gave him an unimpressed side-eye. He ignored it and quickly got her saddled. 

"We've got a lot of ground to cover," he said grimly. 

Roach pawed the ground and gave her back leg a little kick. He let his mouth form a tiny smile, appreciating her enthusiasm. They had to keep the speed down to a fast walk until after they exited one of the city gates, then he let her reins go free so that she could go at her own pace towards the sparkling waters some miles away. 

Overhead the sun was mid-way through its journey. He would need to hurry. 

-

Jaskier had found himself talked into playing his lute for Old Ben. The act itself was no hardship. However, he honestly could not quite figure out how the older man had gotten him sidetracked from his desire to go running after Geralt. He decided it did not really matter. He was full of tasty stew. His injuries were finally starting to fade into the background, and he felt almost content if not for the flicker of worry in his gut. 

"What a lovely song," Old Ben praised him after a lackluster rendition of 'Toss a Coin.' 

It made the bard smile to be so genuinely appreciated, but he wished it was under better circumstances. Before they left Toussaint, he would have to visit the man so he could give him a proper concert.

"You should see me play a set," he said with natural confidence. The bard knew he was good at this one thing. His smile slipped. Only that one thing. His fingers tightened around the lute neck. 

"Everything alright?" Old Ben asked, watching kindly as if he could sense Jaskier's inner turmoil. 

"I-I almost got us killed. Me and Geralt," he clarified, looking up with guilt damp eyes. "He told me to stay behind, and I thought I knew better." 

"You are young," the man said with a wistful smile. "I remember that age. No doubt the Witcher remembers as well." 

That was right. He sometimes forgot just how old Geralt really was when compared to his own human lifespan. Jaskier strummed absent-mindedly at the lute strings. A bittersweet melody filtered out of his imagination to fill the room with all the things he could never tell his Witcher. 

"I doubt he will blame you for caring for him," Old Ben said. 

That drew a helpless, wet laugh out of Jaskier. "You obviously haven't spent very long in his presence. That's his defining trait." It was a lie, but it _felt_ true, damn it. 

"Hmm." 

The bard grinned at the noncommittal hum. "Perhaps I spoke too soon," he said. "Seems you have picked up a few of his mannerisms." 

They shared a small laugh. Jaskier felt better, having let a little bit of his fear and self-loathing out into the world, setting it loose from his head where it had been clawing away like a trapped beast. Maybe Old Ben had a point. He would need to think about it more. 

-

A few helpful travelers pointed Geralt to the correct house when he reached the tiny fishing town on the water's edge. Roach slowed to a cautious walk as they approached the dark, squat house. It had sections of roof tiles missing, and the front stoop was in disrepair. Geralt doubted a mage or sorceress would allow themselves to live in such squalor. He was all too aware that looks could be deceiving. The medallion began to vibrate violently against his chest. 

He dismounted and pulled his metal sword. Roach shook her head, sensing the disturbance. Geralt led the mare over to a nearby sapling and tied her to it before continuing forward, one hand ready to create a Quen at a moment's notice.

Nothing smelled off. It was disconcertingly normal. Rotted wood, the stink of a thousand cockroaches hiding in all the nooks and crannies of the structure in front of him, and a lot of dust. Nothing else. _What the fuck_. 

There was a rustling inside, but the Witcher could not smell anyone else nearby. That was bad. A mage might be able to hide their presence under heavy spells. He really wished he had been given the time to repair his armor. 

"Fuck."

-

"This is o-fish-ally the best damn salmon I've had in years," Jaskier said, fork pointing at Old Ben. 

They were taking a second lunch. After the bard had worked through his entire list of songs, he had worked up an appetite. Somewhere along the way, they had started a pun war that was not showing any signs of slowing down. His old nanny would turn in her grave if she could hear him. 

"Meh. Cod be better," the old man said with an easy grin. "Although I will admit it is quite fin-tastic," he added for good measure. 

  
"We should take you on the road with us. It would certainly bring some much-needed cheer to The Path," Jaskier said with a small laugh as he dug into his fish and steamed vegetables. "At least then someone would enjoy my new songs." 

"Indeed. Unfortunately, I'm tied to Toussaint for the rest of my days. And happily," Old Ben said with an easy shrug. "My daughter and granddaughter are here." 

Jaskier nodded empathetically. He did not speak to his own family, but he knew that he was an outlier. Most people never wandered further than a hundred miles from their families. He had traversed the entire Continent and would have it no other way. It had been a nice thought to have the kind old man as company on the road, but even as he voiced it, Jaskier knew it had been nothing but wishful thinking. Fish-ful thinking. He giggled into his plate. 

Old Ben gave him a knowing glance. "Now, where were we. Ah, yes. I was going to tell you of Toussaint's last few Festival of the Vat bards. They really were quite extraordinary, but you would upstage them. If you gave it a go," he said. 

Jaskier felt a warm glow in his chest at the praise. He nodded as he listened to the man described in substantial detail what it had been like to listen to the city's greatest bards come together. It kept the worry in his gut at bay. Geralt would be fine, he had to be. 

-

"My, my, my, a Witcher. Never thought I'd see one of you on my doorstep," a young blond man said with a toothy grin as he stepped out into the daylight. He eyed Geralt's free hand with a smirk. "And a trigger happy one at that. Welcome to my home, Witcher." 

"What is your business in the catacombs?" Geralt asked, seeing no point in beating around the bush. 

"I'm not telling you," the blond said, his grin growing wider. "What are you going to do about it? Aard me to death?" he scoffed. 

"No. That's what I have this for," Geralt raised his sword. "I won't ask three times. What is your business in the catacombs?" 

"It is mine," the man said simply. "Leave it be, Witcher." 

"That's not possible," Geralt said grimly. "You're going to start a war between the monsters and humans." 

The man's expression remained unchanged, but a glitter of something entered his eyes, and Geralt smelled satisfaction. That was when he realized that was the exact outcome this man was counting on. 

"Shit." 

A sword appeared in the man's hand, seemingly out of nowhere. It was on fire. Double shit. Geralt readied for his attack and sent out an Aard to throw the man off balance. It glanced harmlessly off a hastily signed, but impeccable Quen. 

-

"And-And then! And then, he shushed me. As if it was my fault the griffin had found us, the dumbass was the one wearing a silver sword. Everyone knows griffins can smell silver a mile away!" 

Jaskier railed against the injustice of that long-ago hunt. Beside him, Old Ben was snoring into the bard's shoulder. He was settled against the bed's headboard beside the younger man, drunk off the same glorious wine that had turned Jaskier's tongue loose. Four cups of the heady drink and he had started voicing every grudge he had ever held against Geralt. It had turned out to be quite the list. 

For a moment, he had trouble remembering why he had been so worried about the man in the first place. Geralt would be fine. He was always fine. And annoying. And frustrating. And beautiful.

"This one time he was swallowed whole by a Selki Maw, the idiot! And of course, we had to go to that cursed ball, but I had to wash his hair. It was full of guts, you see," he explained to the sleeping man beside him. "He's always covered in guts. It's ridiculous. But….well...after. After he looked…." Jaskier forgot what he had been saying and reached over to pour himself another wine. 

"Oh, oh, you need to hear this one! He actually blamed me for the Law of Surprise. What a complete arsehole," and he was off again. 


	7. Revolutions and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier makes a new friend. Geralt uncovers a revolution.

Gilbert was a gifted magician, but he also had a familiar fighting style. His movements were those trained into the Witcher's own bones. This mage had somehow been at Kaer Morhen or learned their ways from another Witcher. It set Geralt's teeth on edge. A betrayal or maybe coercion. The thought that this man had stolen from one of his brothers left Geralt hot white with rage. He pushed through the distraction and took another calculated swing at the blond man.

The hit glanced off another Quen, and Geralt snapped his too-sharp teeth in a growl of frustration. 

"Oh, dear. Is the Witcher feeling emasculated?" the mage asked playfully. "Can't even land a glancing blow on lil' ol' me. Honestly, what are they teaching you fellows these days." The mage tsked with a shake of his head and twirled his blazing sword in a showy move that made lean muscles ripple under his crimson blouse. 

He liked to gloat. That was good. Maybe Geralt could learn something after all. From that single taunt, he had been told that the mage was old. Old enough to have missed the current cycle of Witchers. That was at least over a century. No wonder he treated this fight like a horse idly swatting away a pesky deer fly. Geralt was probably far from the first Witcher to have crossed swords with him, and they all came from the same stock. 

Geralt knew he would need to change things up to take the mage by surprise. He would need to focus more on the other man's weaknesses than his own form; otherwise, he would stay predictable. 

"I won't let you start a war between the monsters and the humans," the Witcher growled out, trying to steer the conversation. "I'll die first." 

The blond man studied his opponent as one would a particularly interesting water stain on a ceiling. "Yes, I suppose you will. But that hardly matters to me. It isn't about the monsters or Toussaint or any of that," he added idly, tone bored. 

Sensing a slight weakening of the defense on his right side, Geralt leaped forward into a crouched roll and came up with his sword slicing through empty air. Stars exploded across his vision when the pommel of Gilbert's sword came down hard against the back of the Witcher's head. The mage circled away with a wicked laugh. 

Shaking the spots from his vision, Geralt retreated a few feet to take stock of the situation. He noticed that the mage had a slit through the delicate fabric of his shirt at precisely the spot Geralt had been aiming for, which meant the mage had been too slow to be missed entirely. Confidence bolstered, the Witcher started forward again. 

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Can't you just give up already. I'm not going to be bested, and I have shit to do. A revolution to start!" 

He punctuated the last word with an abrupt Igni that sent a rain of fire down on Geralt before he could evade or sign Quen. He bit back a cry of pain as the sensitive skin on his face burned for an agonizing moment before he was able to duck so that his armor took the brunt of the attack. 

Revolution. That sounded really bad. Fuck. 

-

Jaskier glanced over at a still sleeping Old Ben and smiled. He hated that he had been so easily manipulated into staying at the inn. Yet, just this one evening with the older gentleman left the bard ready to die for him. He always had loved others too quickly. It did not help that the old man was everything Jaskier had ever imagined a real family would be like. Warm, open, caring, kind, understanding, and just the right amount of bonkers. As he pictured his own cold parents who he had never been able to please, a knot formed in his throat. This man's daughter was lucky. He would have to find her and tell her before leaving Toussaint. No doubt she knew already. 

"Well, girl, I suppose rest time is over, hm," Jaskier asked his lute with a gentle pat on her neck. "Time to do something useful." 

He carefully tucked a blanket around Old Ben, being sure not to wake him, and quietly went about dressing and borrowing some things from Geralt's bags. His body did not hurt as badly as it had when he first woke up, thanks to the other man's healing poultices. The stripes of agony now sharp stings that he did his best to ignore. 

Jaskier slung a bag over one shoulder, grabbed a few apples off the tray of food, and tiptoed out of the room, being careful to make sure the door did not creak when he closed it. He hurried out to the stables, and then his shoulders fell when he saw Roach's stall empty. Pain of a different kind lanced through his chest when he realized that Geralt had come back and chosen not to go inside. It was not rational to be so upset by that oversight. After all, the Witcher was in the middle of some Epic Shit that Jaskier helped stir up, so he should have expected it, but it still hurt. 

He walked over to an older palomino gelding and dropped his armful of grooming accessories. "Well, old boy, how do you feel about being spoiled for an evening," he said, grinning through the heartache. "Someone should be happy." 

The bard knew he was being needlessly maudlin. Really his sour mood had started over a week ago when Geralt refused to tell him why they were going to Toussaint. It had felt a little too much like the Witcher did not really think of him as a friend. He had been trying to push that way of thinking away for the whole time, but proving to himself how useless he really was in a fight had brought it all back. He needed to get over himself and pull his thoughts out of that self-loathing place they had settled in. 

Jaskier offered one of the apples, and the horse lipped it from his hand with a huff of warm breath. The bard started brushing out the strange horse's coat with practiced strokes. He liked the mindless rhythm of it, but he missed the easy comradery he felt with Roach. It was easy to pour out his woes to the bay mare. 

"You know I wouldn't mind if he just saw us as friends, but he always pushes me away," Jaskier told the gelding, brushing at a spot of dried mud. "I had told myself it was to protect me and that I could take care of myself, thank you very much, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe father was right... I'll never amount to a damn thing until I settle down and accept my destiny as a viscount's son." 

Even as he said it, the thought repulsed him. Leaving the freedom of the road behind went against his very lifeblood. 

"I can't leave Geralt," he admitted to the horse, leaning his forehead against its withers with a defeated sigh. "He needs someone. Left to his own devices, he would live the most hopeless, nihilistic existence ever with nothing but monster hunting to give him purpose. I refuse to allow that to happen." 

He lifted his head, chin jutting out as if he could will the universe to give his Witcher a break. 

-

Geralt landed on his back with a bone-crushing force that left him unable to draw in a breath for several long moments. That did not slow him down, and he was instantly on his feet. 

He turned to the side so that Gilbert could not see him begin the Yrden, and then he was throwing it with all the magical power he possessed. The mage tripped as he danced to avoid the trap. The blond man was starting to get sloppy. 

"As much as I would love to draw out your death, Witcher, it looks like your time is up," the mage said with another one of his toothy grins that stretched a bit too far. 

His sword met Geralt's steel one, and the mage let it slip down while turning purposefully towards the Witcher's gloved hand. This movement had the intended effect of also bringing those magical flames very close to Geralt's face. He grunted against a sudden, mighty push. Gilbert was much stronger than he looked, another potion, no doubt. Fire met his already abused skin, and a hot line bit into his jaw. The smell of singed meat filled his nostrils. 

"I really do have to be going. Revolutions don't start themselves, you know. Got to stir the pot a little," Gilbert laughed manically, spittle flying out of his mouth. 

The man was mad. Geralt had little doubt that if he let the mage escape, there would be no next time. By the time he returned to the city proper, there might not even be anything left. The Witcher had the advantage of being aware of the man's plans. Clearly, the mage was not going to leave him as a loose end and portal straight to wherever he planned to go next. Good. Geralt had already noticed him favoring his one side, which left his other open to attack. He just needed the right moment to strike. 

The mage cast another Igni and Geralt leaped out of the flame's path, he used his momentum to duck into a controlled roll and land on his feet facing Gilbert. Without hesitating, he lunged forward, sword arching down toward the blond man's unprotected shoulder. 

Gilbert tried to parry, but the angle was too steep, and his blade slipped to the side. The Witcher grimaced in triumph as his sword sliced through flesh and muscle to the bone, cleaving between the shoulder and neck. The mage had less than a minute before he would bleed out. 

"Huh," Gilbert stared at the blade impaled in him, a vacant sort of wonder on his face. "Took long enough." His glassy gaze moved to the Witcher and that shark grin returned, less menace behind it as his blood flood out of him in a river of red. "Guess I won't get to see the world burn after all. Pity." 

With those words, the mage closed his eyes and fell forward. Geralt let his grip pull the sword loose from the body. World burning and revolutions were all he could think about as he trudged back to where Roach was waiting for him. It took a hell of a lot more than one crazy mage to conduct a revolution. He would need to report what he had found out to that damned creature. It might be enough to call off the angry monsters from their blood lust if he could save their underground city from detection. Both sides had reason to stop a revolution that would involve loss of life. 


	8. Geralt Tries to Communicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roach deserves a spa day. Old Ben really is the best.

The ride back to the city was hard and fast with Geralt pushing Roach the entire time, not that the mare complained. She graciously gave him more speed than he thought she could afford, but there would be plenty of time for her to rest back at the inn. 

The Witcher kept her at a controlled canter instead of slowing to a walk when he reached the city gates. He had her expertly weaving between carts as pedestrians scrambled to get out of his way. The fight must have left him looking more frightening than usual because there were screams of panic at his appearance from men, women, and children alike. 

Once at the inn, he left a panting Roach and several gold coins in possession of the stable boy and hurried up to their rooms. To his relief, Jaskier was sitting at the table, strumming a tune for Old Ben. The bard's upper torso was covered in white bandages. The moment he saw Geralt, the lute slipped out of his fingers and clattered noisily to the floor. Jaskier did not even spare the instrument a glance as he jumped to his feet and rushed to the Witcher. 

"Dear gods, Geralt. Your face," he lamented softly, fingers reaching out, but not touching the flame damaged skin. "Oh, Geralt." 

Old Ben was already rummaging around in his bag. He pulled out a clay pot and untied the twine that secured the lid.

"Come here, Witcher. While you tell us what has happened, let me see to your wounds," he said. 

"There isn't time," Geralt ground out. 

Jaskier bodily pushed him towards Old Ben, poking, and prodding until Geralt was seated on the bed. 

"I need your assistance, Ben," the Witcher said, choosing the road of less resistance and letting the two men fuss over his injuries. "I need another meeting with it." 

Old Ben looked at him sharply, eyes bright despite his old age. "That's a high order. After the way the last one went…" he trailed off with a shrug as he applied thick salve to the burn on Geralt's chin. "It might not be possible." 

The Witcher hissed involuntarily at the pain, but it almost instantly receded, and the area became blessedly numb. 

"I need to meet. We have a shared foe. I have learned that there is a concerted effort to force the human and monsters to all-out war. This manipulation must not be allowed to persist. A revolution, the mage called it," Geralt said. He hated the necessity of explanations as his already drained body ached to **_do_** , not talk. 

"What mage?" Jaskier asked, crowding over Old Ben's shoulder to keep an eye on things. "Is that who did this to you?"

Geralt ignored his bard. There would be time to recount the tale later when an entire city of innocent people was not at risk. 

"Do you have proof?" Old Ben asked. "He will not trust your word again."

"Who is he?" Jaskier asked, brow furrowed. "What are you two talking about." 

"I can show it the memory," Geralt conceded with a grimace. He hated intrusive mind magic, but the creature would need to see the truth before they could work together. 

"That should work. Fine. I will reach out and set up another meeting, but in the meantime, you will stay here and rest," the old man said, wiggling a finger in Geralt's face. "You will need your strength." 

The Witcher nodded. That was true enough. 

"Hurry," Geralt said, desperation lowering his voice. "We don't have much time." 

Old Ben nodded grimly and let himself out of the room with another order for the Witcher to rest. Jaskier gaped at the closed door for a moment before coming back to himself. He gave a sudden cry of distress, and Geralt's body tensed, his golden gaze searching for the cause of panic. 

Jaskier bent over his lute, cradling the neck in his hands like one would a dying lover. "Oh, I have treated you atrociously. Please, forgive me, dear," he crooned at the wooden instrument. "That's alright. I'll make it all better. My brave, strong girl." 

Geralt valiantly resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead let his body relax back onto the bed, eyes closing. He slipped into a meditative state with the ease of practice. The old man was not wrong, he would need all of his energy for the coming hours. Geralt could only hope that it would be enough. 

Distantly he could hear Jaskier saying, "you really are going to have to start learning to communicate better, old friend." Geralt figured that was fair, but there would be time for that later. After the blasted revolution had been quenched. 

-

That glorious maniac was going to be the death of him, Jaskier decided with a glower at the sleeping, but not really sleeping Geralt. The bard clutched his lute close to his chest, still feeling a pang of guilt for having mistreated it. 

Old Ben was gone to see ' _him_ ,' whoever ' _he_ ' was. If Jaskier had to guess, he would say it was whatever unlucky sod Geralt had been attempting to meet in the catacombs before that damned monster had appeared. Hopefully, the Witcher did not intend to venture back into that underground hell hole. 

It had not escaped the bard that while Old Ben had referred to the person as a ' _him_ ,' the Witcher had used ' _it_.' That was another mystery not worth trying to unpack with how reticent Geralt was being. Probably another mage if the Witcher's history with magicians was anything to go by. 

That brought him back to watching the Witcher do his meditation. It was jarring how different he looked from just a few hours before. Geralt's pale skin was burned a horrid pink with purple around the edges of the line that dug into the meat of his chin. Jaskier tried not to think about what kind of weapon must have made it. His long hair was singed black at the ends, and his armor was in absolute tatters. 

Jaskier shuddered, suddenly feeling cold. He threw on a shirt and doublet before walking over to the fireplace. He kicked the coals back to life and threw on a couple of small logs. 

"I don't know."

Geralt's sudden statement made Jaskier jump in surprise. He whirled around to face the bed where his Witcher had pale yellow eyes fixed on the ceiling above him, mouth turned down in a deep frowning. 

"I beg your pardon?" Jaskier asked, uncertain what his friend was even talking about. 

"I don't know who 'he' is," Geral clarified, the quotation marks clear around the word. "I never found out." 

"The monster must have scared him off before you got there," Jaskier said with a nod. 

Those golden eyes flicked over to him, and a bemused smirk ghosted across the Witcher's face. 

"He was the monster." 

"Oh. _Oh_! Well…" Jaskier honestly did not have anything to say to that, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "That's new," he settled on finally. 

"Hmmm." 

"And what of this revolution you were going on about?" the bard pushed. If Geralt was finally talking, he wanted some straight answers, damn it. 

"Don't know." 

"How enlightening." The bard wandered closer to his friend's side, sinking onto the edge of the bed with a wince as his own injuries pulled. "Does it hurt too badly?" he asked, motioning towards his own face. 

"No."

"Good. That's something, at least." He fidgeted with the bottom buttons of his doublet. "I'm sorry, by the way. I know what I did was reckless and idiotic, and - I understand that I'm difficult." It hurt to admit that, but if he wanted to get over his own self-loathing he needed to be honest with himself and his friend. "I'm sorry for not listening to you." 

"Hmmm." 

The sound of agreement felt almost like his apology had been accepted. His heart lightened. Doing the adult thing apparently paid off sometimes. He might give it a try again sometime. 

"What next?" he asked. "If you need to know more about a revolution, then we'll need to mingle with the masses and draw out the revolutionists." Jaskier tapped his chin thoughtfully. "What exactly are they after - their endgame?" 

"Don't know." 

The bard gave an exaggerated sigh. "I guess we'll just have to find out then, won't we." 

When the Witcher did not immediately reject his help, Jaskier chanced a glance at the man's abused face. A yellow gaze was watching him with burning intensity. The younger man glanced away quickly, fingers twisting into his pant leg. He could feel the Witcher's unnatural heat at his back, and suddenly it felt very intimate. 

Jaskier cleared his throat and stood. "Anyway!" he said too loudly, too brightly, "I guess I'll go make sure Roach hasn't traumatized the poor stableboy. Rest, Geralt." 

He grabbed an apple from the dwindling pile of food on the table and hurried out of their room. A blush was creeping up his neck, warming his ears. 

-

Roach accepted the apple with a bob of her head. She chuffed at him, bopping his chest lightly with her nose. He leaned against her with a wince of pain, feeling the play of her jaw muscles under his fingertips as she enjoyed the fruit. His injuries were starting to sting a bit more. Old Ben would need to reapply the poultice soon to avoid infection. Jaskier had done it enough times for Geralt to know. 

"I missed you earlier, old girl, had a nice spa day planned. Alas, George over there got to enjoy it instead," he said softly, glancing over at the sleeping gelding. 

Roach turned her head to eye the bard for a long moment then faced back forward and snorted in his face. The bard took that to mean she missed him too. He gave her a peck on the forehead and then moved to check that the stableboy had, in fact, given her a good rub down. She relaxed, letting her head fall forward as her hooded eyes watched him. 

"Looks like Geralt really ran you ragged today," he said. "I'll be sure to have them add honied oats to your dinner. You'd like that, hmm?" 

She whinnied, nodding her head up and down. 

"That's what I thought." 

Jaskier hugged her neck, letting his face rest among the wind-tossed mane that smelled oddly of burnt grass. She must have been nearby when the mage attacked Geralt. The bard found himself thankful the mare had emerged unscathed. He patted her flank. 

"I best get back in and see if I can sing a round or two. We've been here two days, and people of Toussaint haven't even been able to hear my ballads," he lamented, hand on heart. "A travesty, I must remedy post-haste." 

It would be a welcome distraction from everything churning in his mind - the creature, Geralt's injuries, and the events of the last twelve hours. Jaskier gave the horse a final pat and then headed back into the crowded inn. 


	9. Geralt Discovers FEEEEELINGS, Oh, My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt may be starting to have *gasp* FEELINGS. Dear lord. Jaskier just wants to help. Old Ben needs a vacay.

  
Benjamin returned to the tavern three hours later with a heavy heart and the promise of another meeting. To his surprise, the first floor of the inn was utterly packed with people. Some were even standing outside, craning to see inside the doors and windows. The old man had to navigate through the throng of drunk revelers and found himself wondering what had drawn so many to this inn. Then he heard the singing. 

_“Toss a coin to your Witcher, oh valley of plenty!”_

Jaskier’s beautiful voice was nearly drowned out entirely by the response of everyone in attendance when they joined in on the next line. Benjamin had to admit it was a catchy tune. He could barely see the bright blue doublet through the tightly packed audience. The old man forced his way towards the bard with determination and pointy elbows. When he finally caught the bard’s attention, Benjamin pointed up to the ceiling and then beckoned the singer. Jaskier nodded his understanding and held up one finger between beats. He continued the song, moving subtly towards the stairway as Benjamin dove back into the crowd in the same direction.

The man was going to undo all of Benjamin’s hard work if he did not stop moving around. His wounds were barely even in the healing stages. The old man found himself grumbling under his breath about hard-headed young people though he was glad to see the bard looked in better spirits. 

It took some maneuvering to get up the stairs where people were sitting, drinking, and singing in off-key voices. Once on the second floor, Benjamin was glad to see it was mostly deserted. Probably due to the Witcher’s presence. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, he pushed into Geralt’s room even as downstairs he heard Jaskier bow out gracefully from the next song. 

Geralt was sitting near the fireplace, a mug of ale in his hands. His face was already looking much better, with the flaming red reduced to a glowing peach. 

“Not resting, I see. It seems you and your bard both wish to put my medical skills to the test,” Benjamin said with a playful grin. It fell almost immediately when he remembered why he had come. “The meeting is set. Same place, in an hour and a half. He said if you bring your bard again, then all bets are off.” 

Geralt rumbled wordlessly into his mug, mouth turned down into a hard frown. 

“Also,” Benjamin hated to say it, but he needed to, “he said that if you betrayed him once more, I would pay the price.” 

Golden eyes flickered over to him sharply, and the Witcher’s brow pulled together. “Why?”

The old man laughed. “Dear Witcher, I believe incentive is the goal. He wants to avoid war as much as we do.” 

At that moment, the door burst open, and Jaskier slid inside, closing it immediately behind him and leaning back with an exhausted groan. “Why did I think that was a good idea. Honestly, everyone wanted to give me a hearty pat on the back. No doubt, my recovery time has been set back weeks by their well-earned congratulations.” 

“On the bed,” Benjamin ordered, rolling his sleeves up. “Let me check your wounds and apply fresh bandages.” 

Jaskier moved to comply, shedding his doublet and blouse. Geralt down the last of his ale and started pulling off the most damaged pieces of his armor. One whole side was torn badly enough he would need to replace the entire shoulder.

“I have connections with an armorer. He would no doubt lend you a spaulder until yours can be replaced,” Benjamin offered as he started unraveling the mussed bandages around Jaskier’s chest. 

“Hmmm.”

“Your verbosity is astounding, truly,” Jaskier laughed and then groaned at the pain the jostling caused his wounds now that they were no longer held still by the gauze. “Let me know if you need me to go fetch it for you, Geralt.”

“Hm.” 

“No infection, that’s good,” Benjamin said as he cleared the wounds with a damp cloth and replaced the poultice. 

“I’ll live to spend all that gold I just earned us,” Jaskier said with a smirk. “They like me here, Geralt. Not that I had any doubts that they would be once I had a chance to woo them with my musical prowess, but it’s always nice to be showered with coins.” 

“Hm.” Geralt looked up from fussing over his armor to study the bard. “If we can stop the monsters from attacking, I think we will stay for the festival. Your injuries will not be healed enough to travel for at least another week.” 

“Oh, Geralt!” Jaskier looked two seconds away from springing to his feet and tackling the Witcher. Benjamin held his arm just in case. “Thank you! You won’t regret it.” Then he was off describing in detail all the glories of the Festival of the Vat. 

-

His bard had finally shut up about the insufferable festival by the time Geralt had finished mending what he could of the leather armor. The spaulding would need to be replaced for sure. 

“Jaskier, have Old Ben give you the address of that armorer,” the Witcher said as he worked himself back into the armor. 

The fight had left him sore and bruised all over with a few fractured ribs. Thankfully, his accelerated healing and the meditation had healed most of it already. Geralt was able to push any lingering pain away as he went about restocking the potions in the bag he wore. 

After a few minutes the bard left to retrieve the necessary piece of armor while Old Ben had also gone, concerned for his daughter and granddaughter driving him to seek them out. The solitude was pleasant. It allowed Geralt’s mind to wander as he settled into the automatic task of sorting through the tiny potion bottles. He thought of his bard even as the words the mage had spoken repeated in the background of his mind. 

Jaskier should leave the city. It would be safer, but Geralt knew better than to ever voice that thought. The bard would kick and scream and probably throw his precious lute at the very idea that Geralt thought he would ever leave the Witcher behind. Imagining that brought an alien warmth to his whole body, and he relaxed a fraction. There were few constants in life, but his friend was one of them. 

Even after that day on the mountain top when Geralt had spewed such hateful things while taking out his frustrations on the only person near, Jaskier had not abandoned him. He wondered what the bard got out of their relationship other than bruises, and cuts from monsters and curt, hurtful words from a surly old Witcher. 

He would have to shelve that particular cosmic mystery in favor of mulling over the mage’s words. Revolution implied a large enough following to see a war break out. Jaskier had been right, they would need to comb the city for the mage’s fellow revolutionists. Honestly, Geralt could not parse what the outcome was they were aiming for by inciting violence between humans and monsters. 

Any outcome would involve copious amounts of bloodshed on both sides and a renewed fear of anyone and anything _Other_. That problem already plagued the country without the flames of bigotry being stoked. Geralt could admit to himself that the bard was much better suited to mingling and rooting out anarchists. 

The door opened, and Jaskier struggled his way inside, arms full of several large bags. He kicked the door shut behind him and released the bags. They fell to the floor with a loud, clanging. Jaskier drooped to the floor in a defeated pile of limbs. 

“Ouch.” He murmured from where he was splayed out on the floor, blue eyes looking around to find Geralt’s yellow gaze. “You’re welcome. Spaulding, another chest piece just to be safe, a few swords, burn-proof leather gauntlets, at my insistence, and a fucking helmet because good gods, you should’ve seen your face.” The bard shuddered, and his eyes flinched closed. 

“Hmm.” Geralt eyed the offering with a raised eyebrow. “I have a task for you.” 

Jaskier turned onto his stomach with a pained groan and propped himself up on his elbows. “Anything, dear friend.” 

The reply sent warm shivers down the Witcher’s spine, but he ignored the sensation as he spelled out his plan. 


	10. Jaskier Gets His Spy On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt catches more feelings. Is this truly a sign of the End Times?! ...Yes. Probably. Meanwhile, Jaskier makes a frenemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, my lovelies. I have sustained a fracture to my wrist. D: So, I'm stuck in a big old brace thingy and typing is hard and hurts. ***heaviest sigh evaarr* BUT, I will not let that stop me from sharing the epic slow burn that is our boy's love story. ＼(^o^)／. I just might either have shorter chapters or longer times between them while this thing is healing. 
> 
> I appreciate all the kind feedback. Comments are life. <3 <3 <3 Also, you're all awesome! Hope you like this chapter. ヽ(•‿•)ノ

Jaskier discovered quickly that everyone looked suspicious when you were trying to find hidden people who wanted to set the world on fire. The young maiden on the corner eyeing every man who walked past could have been looking for a quick lay or plotting to unleash devil spawn onto humanity. Jaskier skirted around that corner just in case. Really, he did not know why Geralt though he would have any sort of practice with rooting out anarchists. He was a bard for Melitele's sake, not a spy. 

Still, he did want to help, and no doubt Geralt's subtlest approach to doing this part of the job would make grown men cry, so Jaskier was prepared to do his best. His lute was strapped to his back in case he found an excellent place to set up for a few quick rounds. All types were drawn to his music though he almost hoped the bloodthirsty revolutionists would not be. 

Then he caught sight of a handwritten sign peeking out from the corner of a notice board. The brilliant orange color of the ink was what had drawn his attention. It was mostly hidden under a declaration about crowd safety during the coming festival. The corner had been stained with urine. Gross. Jaskier used his elbow to nudge the top paper aside so he could thoroughly read the notice. He was curious about who had chosen such an odd place for an announcement. 

Blood drained from his face when he read the three sentences scrawled out in blocky orange letters. Forgetting himself, he reached out and ripped it off the board, fingers trembling. 

_Witness the end of the war at dawn five days before the Festival of the Vat. The death of our fears is near. Rise to a new world with us - as brothers and sisters!_

Now that he had noticed the sign, flashes of orange became visible on almost every corner within sight of the bard, little pieces of paper bearing the same message. Fuck. He was a bard, a wordsmith in his bones, so Jaskier knew what hidden message was tucked neatly away in those simple sentences. Rising was another word for revolution. The rest of it was thinly veiled propaganda, and the 'death of our fears' was clearly talking about an end to the monsters beneath Toussaint. 

He folded the dirty paper and shoved it into his pocket. Orange was used for a reason, a way to identify each member of the movement, no doubt. Jaskier glanced around to see if anyone stood out. There was a crowd of people outside a nearby tavern, talking and laughing. Each of them wore a band around their right arm, the same color as the sign's ink. That was just about as obvious a signal as the bard had ever seen. He tried to look nonchalant and sauntered in their direction, keeping his gaze down and ears open. 

They were speaking of a drinking game when he passed by so nothing of use there. Jaskier considered turning around and 'accidentally' knocking into one of them so he could feign being intoxicated and ask some questions, but decided against it. They were several huge men and honestly did not look the type to suffer drunk bards. 

He bit his lip, thinking. Then he ambled over to a log bench outside the Tavern and began to strum on his lute. People took an interest in the unexpected entertainment almost immediately. Jaskier noted that more than a few men and women wearing orange armbands came to watch him perform, including the group he had passed earlier. 

After singing several of his most well-received tavern ballads, Jaskier bowed to the throng of listeners and picked up the few coins tossed in his direction. He just happened to stop and count the coins he had recovered within an arm's length of the group of men. One of them gave him a smile and stepped over, nodding towards his lute.

"Beautiful instrument," he said with a relaxed smile. 

Honestly, he was entirely Jaskier's type. Tall with broad shoulders, strong muscles, and shoulder-length hair pulled back into a messy bun. If there had not been the unspoken something between himself and Geralt the last few days, Jaskier might have even tried flirting a little. 

"Thank you. I am always glad of an appreciative audience," he replied with a half-bow. 

"Are you here for the festival?" the man asked. 

"Yes," Jaskier lied smoothly. Not that it really was a lie. With his injuries, they would be stuck there for a while. "And you?"

The man gave a small smile and leaned forward, lowering his voice. "My name is Reese. We're here for another reason," he hinted. 

One of the other men from his group grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ' _keep your mouth shut_ ' and elbowed Reese in the side. Jaskier pretended not to notice. 

"Oh, really," the bard asked with widened eyes, affecting an intrigued expression. "I'm always looking for a good time. Anything a humble bard like myself might be interested in?"

"Depends on how you feel about the eradication of all monsters," Reese said, smile widening and voice lowering until just the two of them could have heard his words. 

Jaskier nodded, pretending to be thinking hard. "Yes. I suppose anyone rational would want that," he said. 

The other man looked relieved and straightened up, giving his friends a thumbs up. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a thin strip of orange material. 

"Tell you what, bard. How about you meet me tomorrow morning in the main square. Wear this on your arm." He tapped the band on his own arm. "And we can witness some history together." 

"That sounds lovely," Jaskier said, his stomach sinking even as he took the fabric with a practiced grin. "I look forward to seeing you." 

Reese's gaze raked over Jaskier with an appreciative glint that definitely hinted at more than casual interest. "Me too," he said. "See you tomorrow." He turned and rejoined his friends with one last smoldering look at Jaskier over his shoulder. 

The bard headed back to the inn, where Geralt was hopefully waiting for him. The orange material was gripped tightly in his hands. He now knew at least one revolutionist, where the majority of them would be meeting within the next day, and what they were offering - freedom from monster oppression, whatever that meant. The orange bands had to mean more than just a way to identify each other, Jaskier was sure of it. 

When he arrived back at the inn, Jaskier found their shared room empty. Instead of sitting and worrying himself to death over the safety of his Witcher, he moved down to the first floor and began another round of songs. There was always more coin to be earned. It was concerning how many people were wearing the orange band. His own was sitting up in his room.

-

Geralt hoped that his bard was safe. Worry wormed its way through his chest in a way that left him feeling strange and uncomfortable. He wanted to ignore it and focus on the meeting at hand, but the Witcher also acknowledged that there was something building between himself and his friend. Something that might not be entirely bad. He might even possibly want to let his feelings pursue it. 

"Ssso, you return," the creature said, slipping into the meeting place where Geralt had already lit the torches, not wanting a repeat of the previous night. "You are lucky our ssshared friend givesss you more credit than I do. For Benjamin Rinehold, you get one lassst opportunity to fulfill your vow." 

Geralt nodded a silent thanks. "What are you? What is your name?" he asked

Neither question was planned, and they both took the Witcher by surprise. After a moment, he realized that he had asked for Jaskier. Some part of him wanted to satisfy the bard's fascination with detail. He shifted uncomfortably. The creature's cowl cocked to one side as it studied him for a long moment. 

"I am a Dark Watcher. My name is Kehvyn," it said finally. 

"Kehvyn, I have news," Geralt said, trying to bypass the awkward moment. 

"Ssso I heard. I will watch - in your mind - it may be unpleasssant." 

Without further warning, something slammed into his mind and Geralt fell to his knees with a grunt of pain. Kehvyn's mental invasion felt like oil slipping through the spaces in his thoughts, sliding off of them. 

"Remember the moment," Kehvyn directed. "I do not wisssh to sssee anymore of humanity than I mussst." 

Geralt could feel the revulsion that rolled through the creature at having to be inside the mind of someone like the Witcher. For once, the discomfort was because of his humanity and not his mutation. That was an odd realization, but Geralt ignored it and instead focused on recalling the exact moment the mage had exited his home and started talking. 

The fight replayed in real-time, pain exploding like drops of acid against the landscape of his mind. Geralt gritted his teeth and breathed through the discomfort like he had been trained. Finally, it was over, and the creature crossed its arms over its chest. The Witcher stood. 

"Interesssting. I believe that our youngssstersss mussst know of thisss immediately. They are the onesss who choossse when or if we attack. They mussst know of thisss _revolution_ ," Kehvyn sounded out the word like he had never heard of it before. Perhaps he had not. 

"My friend is trying to find out more as we speak. Is there a faster way for us to communicate?" Geralt asked. 

Kehvyn hesitated, his lithe frame shifting back and forth in place. Then he dug into his robe and pulled something out. "Tap thisss three timesss and ssspeak. I will hear you, but will be unable to ressspond." 

Nestled in the seven deadly claws was a tiny, smooth river rock. Geralt let the creature drop it into his open palm. He studied it for a moment, but it was entirely unremarkable, just a black stone. 

"Thank you," he said. "I'll let you know as soon as we learn more."

The creature bowed. "Yesss. Good. Farewell, Witcher." 

They cautiously backed away from each other, neither turning fully until the other was out of the room. Geralt then slipped the rock into his potion bag and started running back to the surface. He hoped that Jaskier would have some good news. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. His name is Kevin.


	11. Bath Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baths. Feelings. Pining. Dumbasses need to just bone already.

  
It had been a hard day. After a dozen or so songs, Jaskier had ordered himself a hot bath and was nearly entirely underwater, muscles relaxing wonderfully in the scented water when Geralt returned.

The Witcher eyed the bathwater hungrily, and since that glance also included Jaskier's entire body, he could not help but react to the look. The bard crossed his legs to hide the evidence of how much it affected his body. Geralt did not seem to notice and instead started divesting himself of his armor. 

"Find anything useful?" the Witcher asked, moving the borrowed gear away from his own. 

"Yes, actually. On the table," Jaskier raised his hand out of the water to point at the strip of orange material. "All the revolutionists and their pals are wearing one of those on their right arm. The big event is taking place tomorrow at dawn in the main square."

Geralt gave him an assessing look, golden eyes flitting over Jaskier's exposed chest. The bard resisted the urge to either preen under the appreciative look or cover his nipples. Instead, he settled on sliding further under the water until it met his lip-line. 

"That's good. Anything else?" Geralt asked evenly, walking over to inspect the line of orange fabric.

"They're promising freedom from monsters," Jaskier said, running a wet hand through his hair. "Makes no sense. I mean, they're actively trying to get monsters to come up and eat people, right? I don't see how that equals anyone being safe from them," he admitted. 

"People rarely make sense," Geralt said with a heavy exhale. He leaned his hip against the table and crossed his arms over his chest. 

"They were fans," Jaskier admitted, uncertain why he felt so ashamed of that. 

"People rarely make sense," Geralt repeated, this time with a small upward turn to his mouth. 

The bard laughed, feeling his anxiety ease at the lighthearted response. Jaskier steeled himself and checked that his body was completely under control before getting out of the bath. It was clear Geralt wanted his own hot bath, and the Witcher's abused body deserved it. His face was back to being pale with only a thin pink scar on his chin where an angry burn wound had been. 

"How are you feeling?" Geralt asked as he began to undress, nodding towards Jaskier's healing wounds. 

"Fine. It only hurts when I breathe," the bard joked with an exaggerated grimace. 

The dark-haired man dried himself off and started dressing for bed. He decided to leave the bandages off for a bit to give the injuries a chance to air out. There were no harsh pink lines indicating infection. Jaskier felt comfortable enough to just let them be for the night. 

"Hmmm." 

"How'd your meeting go?" Jaskier asked. 

"Good. I'll relay what you've told me to him later tonight." 

"It's a _him_ now, is it?" Jaskier asked cheekily. 

"Hmm. Name's Kehvyn. A Dark Watcher." 

The bard's eyebrows skyrocketed towards his hairline at the information, and he scrambled to retrieve his notebook. Details were always so few and far between with the Witcher. This felt like a gift. As he got to recording, Jaskier watched Geralt slip into the bath. He really was a beautiful man, and Jaskier would like nothing better than to be able to openly worship his body and soul. 

A soft sigh escaped him, and Jaskier covered it with a fake cough. 

"Alright?" Geralt asked, glancing his way. "Not catching a plague, are you?" 

"No. Of course not," Jaskier scoffed at the idea, feeling glad that the other man had obviously missed the quiet sound of longing that had escaped unbeckoned. 

"Hmm. Good." 

Geralt cast an Igni and then wholly submerged himself for several minutes. Jaskier was just about ready to call for a search party. His heart rate picked up when it reached the point where his own human lungs would have failed when the Witcher finally resurfaced. He looked positively radiant, water exposing every line and curve of his skin. Jaskier wiped a bit of drool off the corner of his mouth and distracted himself with returning his notebook to his bag. He wondered if Geralt knew what effect he had. 

That seemed unlikely.

"Well, it has been a long day, and I've got a meeting at dawn, so I'm turning in for the night," Jaskier said with a yawn. He really was tired, probably because of his injuries. "Goodnight, Geralt." 

"Hmmm." 

The room settled into a companionable silence. 

-

Geralt frowned down at his steaming bathwater. Women in the brothels that offered bathing services often remarked on how stunning he looked when wet. It seemed ridiculous as he felt like a drowned rat, but they were adamant. For some reason, he had felt compelled to get that same reaction out of his bard. A glance over at the bed showed him that Jaskier was indeed falling into a quick slumber. Damn. The women obviously did not know what they were talking about. 

Maybe he was misreading all of the signs Jaskier was sending. The interest might be one-sided. That was an unpleasant thought. 

He flicked a drop of water off his fingertip, which hissed when it hit the nearby fire. He was warm, relaxed, and surrounded by the mingled scents of his life with Jaskier. It should have been enough - _more_ than enough. Still, he wanted something more even though he had zero ideas about what else there could possibly be. Sure, a physical relationship with Jaskier would be fantastic, but hardly necessary. 

Feelings were so tricky. The Witcher felt inadequate and small in a way that had never really happened before. Being weak went against every rule of training that had been figuratively and literally beaten into his body. He shuddered against it, mind skittering away from the vulnerable emotions and back into familiar territory. 

The revolutionists were claiming protection for their followers, and they also wore a sign to set them apart from others. Geralt assumed that there was another mage that would be on hand to keep them from being attacked when the monsters came above ground. 

It bothered him that there was a set time. Dawn. What would happen at dawn? Were they planning to goad the monsters with an attack of their own, or was magic involved somehow? There were a lot of unanswered questions, and Geralt did not like it. 

He would relay Jaskier's news and his own thoughts to Kehvyn after dinner. The Witcher wanted more time to mull over the implications. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short **runs and hides** but I write article content for my actual real-life job so my level of pain is pretty high atm. Also, I got a plot bunny attack and wrote a few Geraskier one-shots that did not help the wrist at all 🥴. I'll try and write a longer chapter for this story next time. The dawn approaches. Mwahahahah! 😈 
> 
> All the love to you guys for your awesome comments. They are life 💓 .


	12. Touchdown! A.K.A. The 'L' Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fin-a-fucking-ly!!!! omg. Geralt and Jaskier are on the same page. Benjamin has a past.

Benjamin could not sleep. Concern for the safety of his daughter and granddaughter gnawed at him. It forced him out of his warm bed and into the kitchen of his tiny home. A cup of warmed milk should help. He set about heating a pan of goats milk over the smoldering fireplace. 

His relationship with the monsters of Toussaint was as fraught as it was undeniable. His wife had been one of their kind. A woman of beauty and strength, but with a darkness about her that could freeze his heart with awe. They had met one moonlit night many decades past. Benjamin could still smell the rose scent of her long curly hair in the night breeze. They had fallen instantly in love. Later she introduced him to her family, down in the catacombs, where they had lived for generations before Keteale had boldly ventured into the land of men. 

She was lucky that her family's monstrous visage was only noticeable under particular circumstances, making it nearly impossible to tell her apart from any other human. Her kind lived brightly, loved fiercely, and died quickly. She barely entered her thirtieth year before succumbing to the age-related sickness that was turning her beautiful species extinct. 

Despite their inherent differences, the monsters below ground had created a kind of sprawling city that incorporated all of their unique strengths to keep the whole strong and stable. Benjamin had been impressed and horrified by the thousands of monsters living out their lives mere stories below the feet of unsuspecting Toussaint. 

The thought of his daughter or granddaughter having inherited the sickness that had killed his Keteale is what had driven Benjamin underground for answers. Kehvyne was one of the monster high leaders, nearly an eon old apparently, and he had done something to keep the curse at bay. Benjamin still did not entirely understand it, but his family was safe because of Kehvyne, and he would be forever grateful. 

Apparently, he was still considered an outsider, though. Kehvyne's warning that if the Witcher stepped out of line, Benjamin would suffer the consequences kept replaying in his mind. It made sense. He had introduced the Witcher to the underground world all those years before. Then it was to save the Witcher's life after he had been nearly cut in two by a Fleder in Toussaint's slums. 

History was a funny thing. It had all led them to this moment. 

Benjamin poured the warmed milk into a cup and settled on a chair in front of the fireplace. He sipped it slowly, letting the heat settle into his chest and hands. Whatever happened next, Benjamin chose to believe in the good that lived in both monsters and humans. 

-

Jaskier tossed fitfully in his sleep, brow furrowed and hands clenched into the bedsheets. Geralt watched, wondering if he should wake the bard, but he was injured and needed rest. Unless the nightmare turned truly vocal, the Witcher decided he should ignore it. Still, he could not stop himself from reaching out to gently card his fingers through the dark hair. Jaskier quieted under the touch, his face smoothing out. 

That same warmth returned to the Witcher's chest, traveling out to engulf his whole body. _Love_. The sudden realization hit his brain like a thunderbolt. He lost all sense of space and time for a moment as that one word reverberated through his skull with increasing urgency. Love. 

Dear Melitele. He was in love. A harsh breath pushed out of his lungs, and he withdrew reluctantly from his bard to curl into himself as tremors shook through his body. Distantly, he wondered if he was going into some kind of shock. There was a sleepy groan at his side, but he was too wrapped up in _feeling_ to really register. 

"Geralt, what's wrong? What happened?"

Hands were touching his face, wiping away tears the Witcher only then felt falling. He had thought he had lost the ability to cry due to mutations. Evidence to the contrary ran down his cheeks and soaked into his shirt. Jaskier was huddled at his side, bare chest inches away. Geralt wanted to reach out, he also wanted to run away and hide until he forgot that he was in love with the bard. 

The Witcher was many things, but a coward had never been one of them. His breath hitched painfully around a lump in his throat. Geralt tried to find the right way to explain this unexpected breakdown to his best friend - his only friend - without potentially ruining their relationship forever. 

"Geralt, talk to me." 

Pleading blue eyes filled his blurry vision. The Witcher finally broke down, letting his sobs escape in ugly cries of anguish that had been locked away in his heart for decades. A desire to be loved back that flared to life now that he was so close to it. Something not felt since the day his mother left him at the side of the road. Love was not something Witchers were meant to ever have for themselves. Here he was, breaking another rule. 

"I-You…." he forced the words out, raw against the pain in his throat, "You had a nightmare." 

Jaskier's brow furrowed in confusion, his fingers stroking along the Witcher's jaw. A touch of comfort that would no doubt disappear the instant Geralt spoke the truth, but he would not lie to his bard. Even through omission. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself against the coming rejection, Geralt closed his eyes. 

"I think….I know that I'm in love with you," the words felt a million miles away like someone else was saying them, even as they burned a hole through his chest. He refused to open his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. 

The fingers on his face disappeared. A final strangled sob wrenched from his throat, but then he packed away the hurt and the disappointment until all he felt was numb to his fingertips. Then he clenched his jaw and opened his eyes. 

Gold met blue. 

Jaskier's eyes were damp, but no tears had fallen yet. The bard was still there, so that was something. He had not run away in fear or disgust. 

"I'm sorry," Geralt said again, this time his voice wholly composed. 

Jaskier's face crumpled in on itself in an expression of hurt and confusion. "Why?" he asked gently. 

The Witcher wiped his tears away brusquely and pushed off the bed, suddenly feeling too crowded. His bard watched every move, face still twisted in despair. The last thing Geralt wanted to do was hurt the man further, but he had no answers. 

"I don't know. Maybe I've always loved you," Geralt admitted with a helpless shrug. 

Jaskier gave a wet laugh. "I meant, why are you sorry," he clarified. 

Geralt's gaze flicked back to the other man and studied him. "What?" he ground out. 

"Why are you sorry that you love me. Is…..am I…," he gestured at his body, "is this not something you're into? Men, I mean. Or is it just me?"

" _What_?" Geralt repeated, nonplussed. 

The bard stood and rounded the bed until he was an arm's length away from the Witcher. A lopsided smile had brightened his face, and he ran a hand through his sleep mussed hair. 

"I feel like we're having two different conversations here, Geralt. Why don't we start over?" Jaskier suggested. 

Geralt nodded uncertainly. 

"Good. So you are in love with me. That's really, really great," Jaskier's smile melted into something heartfelt and beautiful. "I think I love you too." 

That was unexpected. The Witcher blinked rapidly as he tried to adjust his entire world view to include this new revelation. That meant he had not imagined Jaskier's interest after all. Maybe they could do this - be together. 

"However," Jaskier continued, and it felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured over Geralt's head. "You seem to have some reservations. Can you tell me why?" 

"Hmmm." 

What else was there to say. How else could he word it. He was sorry that Jaskier would be stuck with a pining old Witcher, dogging his every move for the rest of all time. Now that he had identified that warm feeling, Geralt knew he would die to protect it and Jaskier. He was sorry that his mutations and training left him emotionally stunted to a degree that he probably could not even understand. He was sorry that he did not deserve Jaskier but wanted him anyway. 

"I'm sorry," he said for the third time, powerless to voice all of the thoughts hurtling through his head. He looked away with a dejected sigh. 

"That's alright," Jaskier said too brightly. "We can work up to it later. For now, I need you to know that I was serious. I do love you too, Geralt." 

A smile quirked the Witcher's lips upward. "Hmm." 

He was out of words. He might never find words again, but if Jaskier asked, he would certainly try. The few minutes of heartfelt commentary had drained him already, and Geralt felt ready to go back to bed. The bard must have sensed his exhaustion. 

"Why don't we take this up again tomorrow. After all the monster stuff is over," he suggested with a brilliant smile. 

"Hmm." 

Geralt nodded in agreement, and they returned to bed. This time, instead of taking separate sides of the bed, Geralt drew Jaskier up against his chest, being mindful to avoid his injuries. The bard sighed happily and squirmed backward until they were flush, one long line of heat. It felt nice. The Witcher closed his eyes and fell back to sleep to the sound of his bard's even breathing and steady heartbeat. 

-

Morning dawned gray and overcast with a hint of rain over the horizon. Jaskier and Geralt prepared for the coming conflict in silence though they shared gentle looks and soft touches as they helped each other dress. Geralt drew the orange fabric around the bard's right arm and tied it. 

Once outside a light rain began to drizzle. There were many more people out compared to the morning before, and almost all of them wore an orange band. Many of them nodded at Jaskier with smiles or glared daggers at the Witcher. It was more attention than either man wanted. 

"Be careful," the Witcher instructed tersely, "If those monsters come out, you get indoors, and you barricade."

Jaskier nodded and then turned and pecked Geralt on the lips before heading out into the crowd. The Witcher wanted to run after him and draw him back into a real kiss or lock him in their inn room or ride away from this gods forsaken city and let someone else handle the uprising, but he did none of those things. They both had a job to do. He watched until Jaskier disappeared in the throng of people headed towards the town square. 

Geralt started his way back to the area of the catacombs, where he had found Gilbert's broken potion bottle. If there was a planned attack on the monsters, it would be through there, and he intended to stop it. Kehvyn had assured him the night before that no magic could make it through the underground city's impressive ward. Whatever was going to happen would be done by people. 

A man approached him, eyes filled with hate and a thick orange band that took up most of his upper right arm. Geralt watched him warily but kept walking. He did not have time for whatever argument this man wanted to have. His dismissal seemed to anger the stranger further, and he jogged forward until he was within sword's distance before spitting a wad of saliva at Geralt's face. 

"Fuck off and die, filth!" the man yelled. 

Others were starting to take notice and head his way. Not good. Geralt did not slow for an instant. He wiped the man's spit off his cheek. To deter anyone from following, he set his eyes into a golden glare and unsheathed his metal sword. Everyone drew back, only a few still following him as he hurried towards the catacombs. They yelled abuse and threw rocks but kept well out of range of any attack, so he ignored them completely. 

Geralt could not wait to be rid of this city. If this level of hate was just the start, then even if he succeeded in stopping the monsters, there might be a human riot to deal with. He prayed to deities that he did not believe in for Jaskier's safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg! It only took a dozen chapters to get them here and they still have to survive the day! 
> 
> Feedback is love <3 <3 <3 Hope you all enjoyed it! Next chapter we get to see what these cray-cray revolutionists got planned.


	13. He'll Rip Your Lungs Out, Jim, I'd Like to Meet His Tailor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Werewolves. Geralt. Another goddamn mage (when will they all die already?!). Jaskier and his new frenemy get into trouble. Kehvyn is the calvary, oh dear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING DEPICTIONS OF TERRIBLE DEATH (Think elevator scene from the movie Cabin in the Woods)

  
Reese found Jaskier quickly once the bard arrived at the crowded main square. There did not appear to be a leader, everyone was huddled in groups talking amongst themselves. Many were smiling and laughing, but Jaskier sensed an air of tense anticipation surrounding the throng of people. A few city dwellers gave them odd looks as they began their morning routines with right arms conspicuously missing any hint of orange. Jaskier hoped they would remain unscathed in whatever showdown took place next. 

"What exactly are we waiting for?" Jaskier asked Reese in a hushed whisper, pretending to be as excited as everyone else. He let his eyes go a bit too wide and innocent, tone free from the anxiety that twisted his gut. 

"You'll see," the other man teased with a grin. "Any minute now, and we'll all see." 

That set off alarms in Jaskier's head. If Reese did not know precisely what was going to happen, then maybe none of these people really knew the truth behind what was supposed to take place. They could be targets or puppets at the hands of a mage or...well, the possibilities were endless. Jaskier's mind reeled even as he forced his body to remain relaxed. He had no way of warning Geralt. _Fuck_. 

The drizzle had become a steady rain, but the weather did not dampen anyone's spirits. Over the mountains, the tip of the sun was just visible through a break in the cloud layer. Sunrise. Dawn. Jaskier swallowed hard, and his gaze darted around through the crowd and along the edges of the square. Whatever was going to happen would be any minute. 

-

Geralt frowned at the catacomb entrance. He had been waiting in the dark, and so far, there had been no movement. It must be nearing sunrise now, which meant that whatever was going to happen would be soon. The Witcher stiffened and drew his silver sword. Kehvyn was approaching along with the lone survivor of the attack from before. Geralt recognized the scent of the young Dark Watcher. 

"I know you're there," his voice was booming in the silence of the tunnel. 

There was a hissed sound that might have been bemused laughter or might have been a snake about to strike. 

“Yesss. We came to asssissst,” Kehvyn said. 

They were still a few hundred yards away, but sound carried well in the catacombs. Geralt relaxed a fraction, lowering his sword to his side.

"We thought you might not come," the younger creature spoke, voice much deeper and raspier than Kehvyn's. "We could not leave the way unguarded." 

"Hmmm." Geralt nodded in understanding. 

"They ssshould be here by now," Kehvyn noted as he drew closer. There was a note of concern under his usual hiss. 

"Yes," Geralt admitted, ignoring his own unease. 

The Witcher reached out with his senses, searching for any scent or sound that might indicate someone was coming from the surface. As he expanded the reach of his enhanced hearing, he picked up an echo of horrified screaming. His breath hitched. _Jaskier!_

"Something is happening in the city. I need to go," Geralt said, already moving away as quickly as possible. 

Kehvyn followed. "I will accompany," the Dark Watcher said. 

Each step closer to the exit increased the sounds of terror in Toussaint. Geralt would have felt nauseous if he allowed himself, but he had a mission. Find Jaskier and protect the injured bard. Whatever the revolutionists had planned, it was not what they had thought. There had been no pre-emptive attack to whip the monsters into an attack frenzy. 

A pinprick of sunlight showed in the tunnel above them. The screams were multiplied, and there was the sound of rending stone and shattered wood. Geralt had heard every kind of creature attack recorded in the bestiaries, and he recognized the distant scent of werewolf. Shit. 

The Dark Watcher flicked out its long tongue and tasted the air. "Werewolf," it said.

"I know," Geralt ground out, both hands on the hilt of his silver sword. "Yours?" 

"No. Our clansss are in mourning. They would not venture out until after the next full moon at leassst," Kehvyn added. "Not even the impressionable onesss." 

"Hmmm." 

They finally reached the exit doorway, and Geralt wrenched it fully open, teeth bared in preparation for an attack. The sight that met their eyes was unlike anything he had ever seen in all his decades. Blood bathed the entire alley and street beyond. Everything in sight was covered in blood, brains, and mauled flesh. If not for the torn bits of fabric, it would have been easy to mistake the remains for that of animals instead of humans. 

"I must find my bard," Geralt said, stepping out into the light rain. "Can your people help fight back? To protect the city?" 

Kehvyne made a hissing-clicking sound that meant nothing to the Witcher. "I will try to get them to help. They may not feel obligated. After all, humansss are not kind to usss. They may sssee it asss fair." 

"Try," Geralt urged. 

The bulky cowl nodded, and then Kehvyn disappeared back into the darkness. Geralt took a deep breath, but all he could smell was the _hotsweatwetfur_ of werewolf and stink of fresh offal. Jaskier's honeysuckle scent was entirely absent. The Witcher ran into the street and followed the sound of screaming towards the town center. 

"Jaskier!" he did not even recognize his voice, it sounded wrecked. 

The devastation was everywhere. Carts torn to pieces, animals shredded and tossed through walls, homes demolished, and on every surface the fragments of what used to be men, women, and children. Clumps of fur and sticky black blood stuck to some of the bigger wood splinters. Geralt felt his heartbeat hard, though no less steady, against his chest. 

A vicious growl came from the ramshackle doorway he was passing, and Geralt turned just in time to meet three-inch fangs with his sword. The werewolf gnashed against the blade, heedless of the way the edge cut into its snout and gums. Blood poured from the wounds, splattering across Geralt's face when the creature let out another growl. 

He had never seen such mindlessness from a werewolf; like it had lost all reason and was left with only the desire to kill. Geralt took out his other sword and thrust it into the werewolf's chest, stopping its heart instantly. Crazed eyes rolled back, and then the creature slumped forward. The Witcher pulled out his sword and watched as the werewolf fell to the ground in a bloody heap. Then patches of gray fur began to twitch, brilliant tendrils of magic filtering through the air around the body like a golden breeze. 

Geralt knelt down to see it clearer, but before he could do more than reach out, the fur was gone, replaced by ripped, bloody clothing and a very much human person. The Witcher fell backward with a silent gasp, stomach rolling. It was one of the men who had been drinking in the tavern the night before. That was when he saw the orange band on the man's right arm. 

He stumbled to his feet and ran towards the town square. Geralt felt like his body was a hundred miles away as he ran both too fast and not fast enough through the rain and muck towards the last known location of his bard. The humans wearing the sign of the revolution were not being protected by magic, they were being used by it. Bigots turned into the very monsters they despised. 

Distantly, the Witcher wondered if this was supposed to be some kind of ruse to goad the local army into attacking the monsters in the catacombs. Maybe it was revenge from a magic-wielding monster. There was too much to consider when all he could focus on was finding his bard. His nose hunting for that honeysuckle scent. 

He remembered tying the orange band to Jaskier's arm that morning and wanted to vomit. If he had caused the man to be turned into one of those things, Geralt would never forgive himself. So, he ran, not even registering the way his boots slipped in the bloody sheet of mud that made up the main road. 

"Jaskier!" he shouted, desperate for a response. 

"Ah, the Witcher," an amused voice called from somewhere ahead of him. 

He reached the square and stopped, heaving in breaths. The same scene of destruction was splayed out before him. Except for this time, a dozen giant werewolves were circling protectively around a small, balding man who was watching Geralt with an evil smile. 

Geralt had been right, there was another mage at play. This motherfucker was going to die if he hurt Jaskier. 

"Where's the bard!" he demanded. 

That smarmy smile grew more teeth, and the mage rested his hand on the head of one of the werewolves. "You mean this bard?" he asked, fingers curling in the fur. 

The Witcher stopped breathing as his entire world shuddered to a stop. He finally smelled the faint scent of honeysuckle beneath the _hotsweatwetfur_ of the werewolf. The creature's eyes were cornflower blue as they watched him from under the mage's thrall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by the song Werewolves of London by Warren Zevon.
> 
> Let me know what you think <3 <3 <3


	14. Thunderbolt and Lightening, Very, Very Frightening!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A werewolf that doesn't know he's a werewolf would be an UNAWAREwolf 😂😂😂
> 
> Things get awkward. Fang tease. Geralt might like it. Kehvyn is the real MVP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING STILL GOT SOME VIOLENCE IN THE PERIPHERALS for this chapter

He was hungrier than he could ever remember feeling. Something was itching at the back of his mind. However, he was too hungry to think about anything except taking a bite out of whatever got in front of his face next. He would eat a whole fucking cow if one came ambling along. Mmmm. _Warm, juicy meat with rivers of hot blood gushing between scissor-sharp teeth and-_ He shook his head to rid himself of the alien thought. 

Except. He could not remember why it was alien. He cocked his head to one side and tried to focus on the world around him instead of the strange inner fantasies of bloodshed. For some reason, the ground seemed much closer than it should be even though he could not quite remember how it used to look. He just knew it was wrong. He pawed at it with long, sharp claws loosening a bit of dirt. The foot looked wrong too. 

Someone was talking beside him. Were they talking to him? Should he respond? He opened his mouth to say ‘excuse me, could you repeat that,’ but all that came out was a strangled whine. Shocked, the man took a step back and promptly fell on his ass. He was standing on his arms and legs. Wait, he had four legs and no arms. What the fuck! 

“Oh, my. You are a strong one, aren’t you,” the voice beside him said in soothing tones. “None of that now.” 

Golden tendrils overtook his vision. Then he found himself on his feet again, someone’s hand tucked into the fur on his neck, fingernails lightly scratching the skin beneath. He felt warm and fuzzy but also hungry. Very hungry. His muscles physically ached with the need to _attack, rend, feast!_

Movement flashed somewhere ahead, and he focused on it. A strangely familiar man with long white hair and two swords. “Jaskier!” the man shouted, voice a deep rumble that tugged at something in his chest. 

Jaskier? Was that him? Wait...no he had no name...except...what? 

Confused and hungry, he growled at the man across from him, showing his teeth. He needed a moment to focus, damn it. The hunger was so intense it seemed to overshadow everything else. He turned his head to bite at the hand touching him but found himself unable to move against the small man at his side. It was like an invisible wall was between them. He struggled against it with a snarl. 

“Now, now. Be a good dog,” the man beside him chided. “Or I might be forced to do something drastic.” 

Well, that did not sound good. He settled back and decided to watch things play out. Maybe with time, he would acclimate to the terrible hunger, and his thoughts would clear up. Then he might remember the identity of the white-haired man. That seemed important. 

-

His bard was so strong. It was clear even from across the square that Jaskier was fighting the spell with everything he had. A flare of pride lit up Geralt’s whole being, and he used it to focus himself. He had to stop the mage before even more innocent people were murdered. The Witcher knew that the local palace guards would already be on their way. They had no way of knowing that the werewolves prowling around the city were innocent humans. 

“What do you want?” Geralt demanded. 

The mage flicked a bit of dirt off his shirt sleeve. “What does any mage want?” he asked coyly before answering his own question. “The world, of course.” 

Magic users either wanted to rule the world or see it torn to pieces. Unfortunately, it looked like this mage considered them one and the same. He watched Jaskier’s canine features twist in confusion and fear as he fought whatever spell had been placed over his mind. The Witcher’s heart ached for his love, but he refused to let his feelings get in the way of saving the bard. He ruthlessly shoved the weakness out of his thoughts. 

“They’ll execute you for this. I’ll make sure of it,” Geralt warned, pointing his silver sword straight at the mage’s heart. 

“Hm. You must think that killing Gilbert - that fucking idiot - makes you able to take me on. It doesn’t. Gilbert didn’t have one-tenth of the power I possess. This-” he motioned to the gore-soaked square, “-is just the start. Toussaint will be my statement to the world. I will see this whole city bathed in blood.”

“And just what statement do you think you’re making?” Geralt asked. 

He was both honestly curious how the mage thought this could ever play out in his favor and also buying for time so that Kehvyn and his reinforcements could arrive. Jaskier was starting to pace back and forth in front of the mage, thick tail swaying back and forth like an angry cat, long canines bared as those familiar blue eyes took in the scene. 

-

Jaskier. Right, he had a name, because he was a human. Jaskier looked down at his paws and lamented the huge claws digging into the ground from the weight of his werewolf form. If this was permanent, he would break his lute with a single flick of his paw. No more ballads or jaunty tunes. At least in this form, he would be useful for hunting monsters, but Jaskier did not want to be stuck as a glorified wolf. 

He stopped his tense pacing and sat down. That was an odd feeling, his rear end flush with the ground as his tail swept back and forth in agitation. At least he had full control over that appendage. His mouth was another matter. If Geralt - and, thank god he had recognized the man finally - had been much closer, he would have attacked already. The urge to bite something, anything was really wearing down his resolve. 

Another few minutes of this all-encompassing hunger, and the bard might actually consider cannibalizing one of the other victims-turned-werewolves. He coughed away the bile that image brought up even as he fought against the urge to follow through with it. Whatever the mage had done to him was fucking him up. Jaskier did not know how much longer he would be able to hold onto his humanity before it slipped away again. 

He looked over at Geralt and gave an unconscious whine of distress. His whole self was screaming silently at his Witcher to save him from the nightmare that had become his life. Geralt’s golden gaze flicked away from the mage and down to Jaskier. The edges of his mouth softened even as those yellow eyes hardened with resolve. The bard knew that look. Geralt was done pussyfooting around. 

Thank Melitele! 

Next to him, the mage spouted off nonsense that the bard did not care to remember even for the sake of a future song. He could make up deranged magical mumbo-jumbo with the best fantasy storytellers. Better, if the success of his music was anything to go by. 

Music. Taverns. Food. Meat. _Red, rushing, blood running down a howl torn throat._ Jaskier forced the intrusive thoughts away. 

There was a rush of air next to Jaskier, and then the mage was simply gone. He blinked stupidly at the empty space beside him, where the small man had stood a second before. 

-

“Don’t kill him!” Geralt yelled the second he realized what was happening. 

Kehvyn held the mage by the throat, fourteen razor-sharp claws digging into the man’s neck, back, and shoulders. The Dark Watcher turned an unimpressed, shadowed cowl in the Witcher’s direction. 

“Why? You have ssseen the devessstation he wrought,” Kehvyn said. 

“One of the werewolves is Jaskier. If you kill him, there might not be a way to reverse it,” Geralt said. 

The Witcher was carefully approaching his friend’s wolf form, wary of the other eleven werewolves looking back and forth between their master and the Witcher as if uncertain what to do. 

There was a sharp snap of broken bones that echoed through the square. Geralt watched in horror as the mage was thrown to the ground with enough force to put a small crater in the packed dirt. 

“What have you done!” the Witcher roared.

“He’sss ssstill alive. For now. But he will not be making any more trouble for usss,” Kehvyn said with a dismissive wave at the magician. “Let me help thessse onesss.” 

The Dark Watcher walked calmly up to the nearest werewolf and placed a claw gently on its head. The creature gave a sharp cry of pain, and then it was shifting back into a very confused human. He wore an orange band on his arm, and his brown eyes were glassy. Kehvyn repeated this process with each werewolf before finally approaching Geralt. 

Jaskier had taken up a tense stance a dozen feet away from the Witcher, and for every step Geralt took forward, the wolf took one back. Jaskier gave a throaty growl when the Witcher knelt and reached out a soothing hand. Unruffled by the display of aggression, Kehvyn walked right past the Witcher and placed his hand on Jaskier’s head. The blue eyes widened in pain, and then the bard was lying sprawled across the ground. 

An unconscious cry of relief slipped out from between Geralt’s teeth, and he rushed forward, gathering his love in his arms. Jaskier’s entire body tensed. 

“Um, Geralt. Maybe don’t do that just yet,” the bard said in a shaky voice. 

Geralt pulled back but did not let go of the other man. “What do you-” 

His question was cut off when Jaskier unceremoniously bit him hard on the arm, teeth making dents in the leather gauntlet. Geralt could only watch in horrified fascination as Jaskier worried the leather like a dog with a toy, shaking his head as if it would dislodge the protective gear so he could reach the flesh below. 

“Jaskier, the fuck?” he asked. 

The bard pulled back, breathing hard and flushed from ear tips to neck. “I think it might be best if you gag me for the time being,” he turned even redder at the suggestion. “I think the magic isn’t completely worn off.” 

Geralt ignored the suggestions and pulled them both to their feet, his arms supporting Jaskier’s weight. Behind him, Kehvyn was speaking into a dark communication stone in low tones. No doubt informing the other Dark Watchers of what had happened. After several long moments, Kehvyn turned back to them. 

“The youngessst have already turned back the ressst of the humansss. We will go now. Guardsss are lesss than ten blocksss away. You ssshould leave asss well,” he suggested. 

Geralt nodded. Their story could be told another day. For now, a Witcher being caught in the center of all this bloodshed would do more than earn him another Butcher title. 

“And the mage?” Jaskier asked, leaning most of his weight on his Witcher. 

“We will take him,” Kehvyn said. “To pay for hisss crimesss. He almossst dessstroyed usss. We have already alerted the nearessst sssorsssorcesss. Ssshe knowsss our waysss and will help usss when I ssshow her what happened here.” 

Geralt nodded. In a blur of black robes, the Dark Watcher retrieved the mage’s broken, moaning body and disappeared. 

The rain had finally stopped. 

“Come on, we should go collect our things and get Roach,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier nodded even as his tired gaze swept across the massacre that had taken place in the square. Tears tracked down his cheeks. 

“Did I…..do this?” he asked so quietly the Witcher almost did not hear. 

He wanted to reassure his bard, but honestly, he had no idea. Jaskier could have been compelled to attack some of the city residents. There was no way to really know who had killed the unlucky people. The heavy rain had washed the werewolves' coats clean before Geralt arrived. He hugged the bard closer to his body and gently pulled his head down against his chest. 

“Close your eyes,” he requested softly. 

Jaskier complied silently. That alone spoke volumes about the other man’s mental state. Geralt determined to get them out of the city and settled in a camp as soon as possible. His bard was shaking like a leaf in his arms, and there was also the residual werewolf tendencies to think about. The Witcher determined to use the communication stone later once they were both safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. I needed to take care of that Mage so I ignored an article deadline and wrote this instead. 😅 (though we have yet to see the end of Mr. Crazy-Pants). Our boys gotta skip outta dodge to avoid the fuzz, but this whole ordeal is far from over for them. Dum-dum-dummmmmmm. 
> 
> Also, Bohemian Rhapsody was stuck in my head every time I was writing Jaskier for this chapter so that's where the title came from. 😅 I blame caffeine withdrawal 💞 Hope you guys like it.


	15. I Don't Want to Eat You, I Just Want to Taste You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier deal with the fallout. Also, Roach needs a hug.

  
Jaskier had remained utterly silent as they packed up their things. Geralt did not feel comfortable letting the bard walk and instead helped him up onto Roach. He sat on the saddle so that the Witcher could keep him steady. Clearly exhausted, Jaskier nodded off in Geralt's arms as they made their way away from the city. 

The rain-drenched fields looked less inviting than they had during their journey to Toussaint. Geralt regretted being unable to give Jaskier a real rest after everything that had happened. However, by sunset, all the nearby towns would undoubtedly be on alert for any strangers passing through. Kehvyn and his sorceress friend would get things sorted out, but the people of Toussaint would be looking for someone to blame, and Witchers made good scapegoats. 

They would be safer out in the wild for a few weeks while they recovered their strength. Even if it came at the price of comfort. Geralt's vow to the Dark Watcher was complete, so nothing was tying him to Toussaint any longer. Humans and monsters alike could pick up the pieces of their shared loss without him. Still, he was reluctant to stray too far before the extent of Jaskier's condition was confirmed. 

Geralt stared at the teeth marks marring his wrist covering. A troubled frown furrowing his brow. Jaskier had needed to forcibly keep his mouth closed at two separate points while they packed, his trembling fingers had clenched around his mouth and jaw. It had been upsetting to see, but Geralt had no answers for his bard. 

Kehvyn may know of some way to help, but it was doubtful the Dark Watcher would have time or inclination to help them right away. The creature had a mage and a massacred city to deal with. No, Geralt would have to skirt around this problem for the time being and hope that he did not lose any fingers or ears to residual instincts the bard may be carrying. 

Roach blew out a loud breath and shook her head up and down, stomping the ground. She was still rattled from walking through the carnage of the city. Geralt patted her neck and made a soothing sound in his throat. The horse gave a low snort. 

"Easy, girl. We'll find you a nice meadow to feast in tonight," he promised. "I grabbed a few apples for you too." 

Roach turned her head so that she could eye her two passengers before huffing and then picking up her pace a little. Geralt steadied Jaskier so that he would not wake up from the jostling. 

"He'll be alright," Geralt said.

It was always easier to open up to the mare. She did not judge him - well, she often did, but not in any way that could hurt him. Roach was safe. So much had happened since they arrived in the city. Geralt had the urge to just spill all the details of what he had been thinking and feeling ever since that first night. With an empty road, Jaskier dead to the world, and with his horse listening, he started word vomiting stream of consciousness. 

He talked off and on for hours, meandering down the rabbit holes in his mind. What could be and might have been. By the time they reached a suitable place to camp for the night, Geralt felt lighter than he had in years. Whatever was to come next, he felt confident that together he and Jaskier could overcome anything. 

-

_Hunger ate at his stomach like acid, and he burned with the need to tear chunks of flesh from a warm body. Blood would run down his chin and soak into his doublet if he could just find someone to eat. The blood smelled so good. He just needed one bite. Only one and everything would be fine. He could hear the thrum of a steady, slow heartbeat. The pump and rush of blood through veins._

Jaskier jerked awake with a startled cry. 

He was sitting on a bedroll, his back leaning against something solid and warm. He wanted to turn and bite it, and he started to twist around. His mind caught up with him, and Jaskier froze. Cold fingers of horror squeezed his heart. 

"Geralt?" he asked in a strangled voice. 

"Hmmmm?" 

He felt the rumble through his spine. 

"Is gagging me still off the table?" he asked, feeling sweat begin to sprout along his hairline. "I think there's something very wrong with me." 

"What are you feeling?" 

"Like I would very much like to eat you and not in a fun way," Jaskier giggled hysterically even as tears pricked his eyes, "more like in a you-bleed-all-over-me way."

A hand traced comforting circles across his back. "We'll figure this out. I sent word to Kehvyn about the side effects you were experiencing. We can wait for him to respond or find a healer on our own. I will not leave you to suffer. Everything will be okay, Jaskier," Geralt said. 

"How can you say that? I probably ate those people! I might eat you. Dear Melitele, I'm a monster." 

Jaskier gasped, folding in on himself in a way that made his injuries scream. Behind him, Geralt leaned forward, and Jaskier felt the Witcher's forehead settle between his tense shoulders. The touch was grounding. 

"You are no monster," the Witcher's breath was warm against his back, words vibrating through his skin. "I will not let you become one. I promise." 

Jaskier took one shaky breath and then another. He had known logically that the Witcher was not going to abandon him to these terrible compulsions, but hearing the reassurances helped anyway. Something loosed in his chest, and he relaxed back. 

"Thank you," Jaskier said. 

"Hmmmm." 

"I...I'm kinda really, very hungry," Jaskier admitted. "I'm not sure if that's from the werewolf-me or from just not having eaten anything since dinner yesterday." 

Geralt stood to his feet. "I'll get us something." 

-

The Witcher retrieved some bread and dried meats from his bag along with a waterskin. Jaskier drank greedily and then settled back to chew on the meat. Geralt added a few more logs to the dwindling fire and gave Roach another apple before coming back to sit beside his bard. Their shoulders and knees knocked together as they ate. It was comforting, but unease burrowed under the Witcher's skin. 

"We should find a healer in three or four days. After Toussaint has had some time to sort out who was responsible for what happened. I'm sorry, I don't want to risk it before then," Geralt said. 

Jaskier nodded his understanding, staring forlornly at the dancing firelight. Geralt hated the self-recrimination he could feel coming off the younger man. He had already said everything there was to say. Instead of repeating his reassurances, the Witcher reached out and drew Jaskier against him, arm wrapped around the other man's back and shoulder. Jaskier relaxed slowly under his steady grip. 

"Thank you," the bard said softly. 

There was no need to respond. He knew what Jaskier was really saying _'thank you for staying even after I was used and changed.'_ Geralt did not have the words to tell him that he knew what it was like to be unmade and forced to strike out against others. He understood on a fundamental level what it was to hate the monster locked away inside of you. 

"You're welcome," he said instead. 

They finished their dinner in comfortable silence and then fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms. 

-

Jaskier did not want to tell Geralt that the dinner before and the lean breakfast they had just finished only took the edge off the insatiable hunger living inside him. Voicing that would feel too much like acknowledging that he was different. Reality frightened the bard, so he retreated back into a safe space of denial when Geralt asked how he was feeling. 

"Good. Never better," Jaskier replied with the brilliant smile he used to woo maidens and charm coins from audiences. 

"MmmHmmm." Geralt did not look convinced but did not question him further. 

"What do we have planned for today?" the bard asked, trying to shake off the surreal tinge that had colored his world ever since the city square. Distraction would be helpful.

"We can travel closer to one of the small villages that host a family of healers. I have been there several times, but we will need to avoid any Toussaint guards patrols that will be traveling nearby," Geralt said. 

"Guess we were lucky not to meet any yesterday," Jaskier said. He bit his lip and had to fight back the urge to sink his teeth all the way through that soft flesh so he could finally feel the _rush of warm blood down his throat and filling his stomach._

Jaskier leaned over and threw up. Sick splattered across his boots, and he stared at the gross flecks of what used to be sourdough bread. He felt Geralt approach but did not have the energy to look over. The bard was frightened that the bloodthirsty urge had not yet left. He clenched his jaw tightly, hearing his teeth grind together from the pressure. With a grimace of distaste, he began wiping his boots off on the long grass.

"If I hug you, will you bite me?" Geralt asked levelly. 

Jaskier let out a bitter laugh. "I don't know. Also, people in love really shouldn't have to worry about being masticated by their significant other." He closed his eyes and ignored the intrusive thoughts of tearing through muscle and tendons. "I don't think I'll bite you, but I might throw up on you," he admitted, voice tight. 

That was all his Witcher needed to hear. Large, comforting hands settled on his shoulders and slid around until Jaskier was encompassed in a gentle hug. He leaned into the touch. Everything was so fucked up. 

To think the day before he had been worried about being eaten by a monster. Laughter bubbled up in his chest but died before reaching his throat. Now he was the monster doing the eating. At least, his magically damaged mind tried to convince him that was the truth. He fought back against it with the memory of Geralt's promise. 

Jaskier was safe with his Witcher at his side. He fully relaxed then for the first time in what felt like forever. Twisting in Geralt's arms, Jaskier looked deep into his friend's kind yellow eyes and then kissed him. It was a tender, honest kiss. Geralt responded with glorious heat and tongue. That must have been gross, but it did not seem to bother the Witcher.

The bard pulled back abruptly, Geralt chasing after him with a groan. Jaskier put a hand on the Witcher's chest, and Geralt froze, studying him. 

"What is it?" Geralt asked. 

"Geralt, don't be too alarmed, but I think that my werewolf half really wants to have _very creative_ sex with you...and maybe a few, tiny nibbles." He was still breathless from the kiss and images that had flooded his mind.

"We can arrange that," Geralt said with a small lopsided grin. 

The cavalier answer made Jaskier slap the other man's perfectly chiseled abs. "No, we cannot! I might eat something you might rather keep." His gaze flicked down to Geralt's groin and back up. 

That sobered the Witcher up immediately. "Damn. The kinky part did sound nice." 

Something exploded behind Jaskier's eyes, and his blood rushed down. Those words in that tone from that mouth. _Oh, god_. They were both fucked. He turned away, fidgeting with the edge of his shirtsleeves. 

"Nope. No! None of that until this curse is fully lifted. I won't risk hurting you, Geralt," he said. 

There was a forlorn sigh from the Witcher, but no argument. Jaskier guessed that the thought of losing his manhood was enough to stop even a stoic monster killer. He winced as more bloody thoughts came and went like smoke. 

"We should get moving. I need to do something," the bard said. 

Geralt nodded, and they started gathering up their camp. "I know somewhere a few hours from here that will make a good resting place. There's a spring." 

"Excellent," Jaskier said. 

Maybe he could wash away the evil thoughts crowding him. He went over to Roach and began getting her ready for the trail. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how you liked it. <3 <3 <3 Thank you, everyone, for your feedback so far. It gives me life. <3 :D


	16. All The Broken Little Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A terrible memory surfaces for Jaskier. Geralt is not prepared to deal with the fallout. 
> 
> (They both need bubble wrapped and put in a room full of candy and pillow forts and endless flasks of hot chocolate while Brave plays on a loop. 😭)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING MENTIONS OF IMPLIED CANNIBALISM INVOLVING AN UNBORN INFANT [yes, I am a terrible human person. I Sorries 😭😭😭]
> 
> (TO SKIP THAT MOMENT: When you get to the sentence "A memory from the square surfaced unexpectedly." don't read the following italicized paragraphs and then you'll be fine) Also.
> 
> ****SPOILER ALERT*******  
> ****SPOILER ALERT*******  
> ****SPOILER ALERT*******  
> ****SPOILER ALERT*******  
> ****SPOILER ALERT*******  
> ****SPOILER ALERT*******  
> ****SPOILER ALERT*******  
> ****SPOILER ALERT*******  
> Jaskier didn't actually eat anyone or their baby. He just remembers doing it. That fucking mage is a fucking motherfucker who messed with his head. He will be dealt with accordingly in time.  
> ***END SPOILER ALERT****  
> ***END SPOILER ALERT****  
> ***END SPOILER ALERT****  
> ***END SPOILER ALERT****  
> ***END SPOILER ALERT****  
> ***END SPOILER ALERT****  
> ***END SPOILER ALERT****  
> ***END SPOILER ALERT****

Jaskier was walking again. He needed the distraction from his thoughts. Also, if he was honest with himself, some distance between him and Geralt was safer for both of them until the magic could be entirely removed. Thank god Roach was too scary to even contemplate biting; otherwise, he might have found out what raw horse tasted like three times already. 

The dreadful cravings seemed to come in waves separated by stretches of almost normalcy. If having manageable, but disturbing, daydreams about cannibalizing the love of your life counted as normal. Werewolf-him was also very interested in sexing the Witcher, which made it hard to think straight. 

Jaskier had determined that he should time the worst episodes but was having trouble focusing. What with all the intrusive thoughts and remembering. His memories of what happened when he was a wolf had started coming back slowly in jumps and starts. So far, they had been blessedly lacking in the eating gore department. 

The bard pulled out his lute from their travel packs and began strumming a light tune, humming along with no real musical destination in mind. Geralt's shoulders relaxed visibly.

"Feeling better?" the Witcher asked. 

"Hmmm," Jaskier gave a noncommittal grunt and shrugged. A thought occurred to him. "Do you think the other people who had this happen are having the same problem?" he asked. 

"Maybe," Geralt said. He did not seem overly concerned about anyone else influenced by the spell. "We will find a way to return you to normal." 

"I hope so," Jaskier said. 

He played quietly on his lute for another few minutes as he formulated a song opening in his head. Jaskier started singing, strumming a steady tune with the lines as he came up with them. 

_"The bard turned spy_  
_Had love in his eye_  
_And adventure in his soul!"_

After the heartfelt exclamation, he lowered his voice and gave it a dramatic lilt. 

_"But in a twist of fate_  
_A mage filled with hate_  
_Spelled the brave bard_  
_Aaaaaaand!"_

He walked up the strings with his fingers playing a fast series of riffs to build the suspense.

_"Though he fought it hard_  
_It caught him off guard._  
_And he was turned into_  
_A werewolf._  
_A werewolf._  
_A werewolf!_

Quick, Geralt, what rhymes well with werewolf? Hoof? Gruff? Steppenwolf? Hmm. Needs work." 

The Witcher, predictably, ignored his question and did not even deign to appear interested in the musical retelling of their epic story. Roach huffed and smacked him with her tail. Jaskier grinned at the usual treatment and kept strumming the catchy new music. It was caught in his head, and he would write it down when they made camp. Indeed a rough start, but it had potential. 

-

They arrived near mid-afternoon at the place that Geralt had mentally decided they should spend the next several days. It was within easy riding distance of the town of healers but also was far enough removed from the main road that no one would come across them unexpectedly. 

A small spring gurgled up clear water that fed into a nearby stream. Shoulder high waterfalls dotted the water's twisting path, and the ground was thick with a carpet of green grass. Roach looked excited when Geralt set her free. She whinnied and trotted over to a large area covered in clover. 

Jaskier was already seated, with his pants rolled up and bare feet planted in the river. His bard was writing something in his song notebook, so Geralt left him to it. That was the most relaxed he had seen the man since before they reached Toussaint. It made the Witcher feel warm and glowy inside to see the man so unencumbered by the shit hand Fate had dealt him. 

Vesemir and the other Witchers would throw him out of Kaer Morhen on his ass if they could see the disgrace he had become. Such weakness in a Witcher was a death sentence. Geralt fought against the ingrained instinct to shy away from the soft feelings. He had seen enough darkness and evil in the world to recognize that this was a gift. He cherished it even as he feared it. 

"How about this, Geralt," Jaskier called, looking up from his notebook. He began to sing in his clear voice. 

_"And he was turned into_  
_A werewolf._  
_A werewolf._  
_A werewolf!_  
_Pelt gray and rough_  
_Teeth sharp as swords_  
_Ho00--aaaoouuuhhhh-wls_  
_Instead of words…._

Yeah, that's all I have so far," he admitted, scribbling something new in his notebook. "I know it's got a lot of work yet." 

"Hmmm." 

"Was that a good 'hmm' or a bad 'hmm,' because I couldn't tell?" the bard asked cheekily, eyebrows raised. 

Geralt spared him a soft smile. "It sounds fine." 

"Oooh! High praise from Geralt of Rivia," Jaskier said. "Care to join me?" he patted the grassy ground at his side.

The Witcher studied him carefully, assessing the likelihood that getting closer would be an issue. Jaskier rolled his eyes. 

"I'm not going to bite. At least, not right now. If I'm correct, then I have about another degree of sun drift before I start craving blood and guts," he choked a little on the last word. 

"How do you know?" Geralt asked, curious even as he moved to take the offered seat. 

"I've been timing them. Took some doing, but I finally figured it out. Every three degrees, I have this sort of fit. I'm hungry all the time, but I'm only actively craving raw flesh - _ugh, so gross!_ \- for a short, intense period every three degrees of sun change. So we should be fine for now," Jaskier explained. 

"Hmmm." 

It was reassuring to know that his bard was getting used to the changes. Also, that they contained some sort of rhythm. That would make the next few days easier to manage.

-

The sun was nearing the third degree, so Jaskier moved his notebook and lute back into their packs and carried his bedroll over to the far end of camp, near the stream. Geralt kept watch at a distance, speaking to Roach in low but heartfelt tones. The bard wondered what exactly his Witcher and that horse actually talked about. Honestly, if he could get spelled with the ability to understand horses, all of Geralt's secrets would come out. He laughed at the ridiculous thought. 

He had brought some of the jerky with him. Maybe having something to actually chew on would help the cravings though Jaskier doubted it. His stomach was like a bottomless pit, and no matter how much he put in it, there was always room for more. There was no way that real werewolves went around just hungry all the damn time, so it must have been part of the mage's spell. 

Made a horrible kind of sense. After all, the little creep - Jaskier had not even caught his name - had meant to massacre the entire city of Toussaint. Gods. There were so many lives ruined in less than an hour. The surreal blanket that covered the world kept him from feeling too hard about it. 

There was no way that Geralt was prepared to help him through the fallout when it truly sunk in that this was all real. Dear Melitele. It had taken an honest act of god to get him past the last Big Bad Thing that happened. The Witcher was stretching his emotional capacity by accepting that they were in love with each other without hiding his head in the sand. Anything more would be expecting too much. 

Jaskier was perfectly aware of who he had decided to dedicate the rest of his life to following. That man was not ready to carry Jaskier through an ugly, gross, prolonged breakdown. He always had been a drama queen when it mattered. 

It reminded him of his mother and her moods whenever his father went "hunting" with the army general they all knew he was sleeping with. Jaskier tapped his chin at that thought. At least he came by it honestly. 

"You alright?" Geralt called from where he had taken up a meditative pose in the clover. 

"Peachy," Jaskier said, giving a thumbs up. 

The Witcher nodded and then closed his eyes and relaxed. It looked like he was going to hibernate while Jaskier thought about eating half of the Continent. A memory from the square surfaced unexpectedly. 

_A still-beating heart under his claws, one sharp nail ripping it out of the woman's gaping chest wound. Another heartbeat met his enhanced hearing, this one small and fluttery. He sniffed at the dead woman's stomach and sensed another creature inside of her. A purr worked its way up his throat, and he discarded the heart so that he could disembowel her with a sharp twist of his powerful jaws._

Someone was screaming over and over. It sounded like they were being tortured, was no one going to help them? Jaskier wondered from a hazy place in his mind. The screaming continued. He let himself drift. There was nothing to focus on in this nowhere place. From a distance, he heard a voice calling, but the words were drowned out by the screams. 

-

Geralt held the shaking bard in his arms. The man would not stop screaming. Long, drawn-out cries of anguish that sounded like someone was tearing out his very soul. Those lovely blue eyes were staring through him unseeing even as his lungs kept shoving out scream after horrible scream. 

"Jaskier! Please, snap out of it!" 

Geralt shook the younger man's shoulders, but he just flopped in the Witcher's grip like a ragdoll. He had never seen anything so obscene, and he was at a complete loss. If the screams did not stop soon, Geralt was going to cut his own ears off to stop hearing them. 

He was scared.

There was no training for handling this kind of thing. Geralt tried to think of what Jaskier would do if their situations were reversed. 

After a moment of thinking, he removed his shirt and pulled the bard into his lap, turning him so that his back was against the Witcher's chest. He held the man and started talking about Roach and her obsession with timothy grass. Meaningless chatter in an even, calm tone. Maybe Jaskier would feel his breathing, his heartbeat, his words. Something had to reach the man. 

The screams quieted, and then after three more gut-wrenching howls of angst, they stopped altogether. It was dead silent aside from Geralt's deep drawl. He kept talking because it had to be working. He refused to even consider that Jaskier had gone entirely catatonic. His thumbs began to rub small circles against the blouse where he held Jaskier. 

-

The screaming had finally stopped, thank the gods. It had been both annoying and, for some reason, exhausting. Jaskier blinked and found himself sitting on the ground with his back to Geralt. Had he fallen asleep? That was odd. 

"Geralt, what's going on?" 

The man tensed. "Jaskier?" he asked hesitantly.

"Last time I checked," the bard said with a snort. He turned his head so that he could look back at the other man. The Witcher's face was paler than usual, making his new chin scar stand out. "What's going on? Did I try to eat you?" 

"N-no," Geralt stumbled over his words. "You, uh, you were screaming." 

That did not make any sense. It had been someone else who had been...wait...Jaskier brought a hand up to his aching throat. 

"Huh." 

"Did something happen this time? Something different?" Geralt asked, keeping his voice carefully even. 

Jaskier shrugged. "You were over there meditating, and then I think I remembered something from the square." 

Geralt hissed in a sharp breath of air. "What did you remember?"

"Not sure. It's all blurry. Maybe if I try-"

"No!" Geralt interrupted frantically. He placed his hands on Jaskier's shoulders as if he could physically restrain the man from the memory. "No, don't do that. Whatever it was must have been bad." 

"Maybe," Jaskier said.

A sick feeling in his gut said that Geralt was right, so he shied away from the _warmbloodeatbitefeed_ thoughts and instead let his mind start to drift again. He was safe with his Witcher at his back. 

"Just gonna, take a nap," he whispered, letting his head fall back against a muscular chest. A bare chest. That was almost worth checking out, but Jaskier suddenly felt a profound exhaustion settle over him. He let his eyes slide closed. 

"I've got you," Geralt rumbled in his ear. "You're safe." 

-

The Witcher watched his bard fall into a troubled sleep. At least now they knew for sure that Jaskier had played a more prominent role in the gore-fest that had been Toussaint's town center. Geralt felt helpless. How could he fight against something that already happened - against a memory. Swords were useless here, and no one had ever shown him how to look after someone like this. For the first time in a long time, the Witcher missed being human. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I know you guys want me to give Jaskier a break. It IS coming, but things gotta get worse before they can get better. But they will. <3 Also, sorry if that was too graphic for some of you. I wanted something that would absolutely BREAK our little bard's noggin. *hides* There WILL BE GOOD THINGS happening next. I promise. They've both dealt with enough angst to last a fic-time. Now, excusey me while I go cry my eyes out over our boys.
> 
> **UPDATE: I took out some of the worse...er details in the memory because it was super upsetting for someone so that's why that got shortened (also, never hesitate to reach out if you get triggered by something. Constructive feedback is my friend and I'm always willing to edit 👍)


	17. You Get Some Fluff! And You Get Some Fluff! Everyone Gets Some Fluff!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt (and us, let's be real here) get a well-deserved break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING VIOLENT IMAGERY

It had been two days, and Geralt felt on edge every moment. His swords were strapped to his back even though he knew they would be no help against the things Jaskier was fighting against. Still, the heavy weight was comforting. 

"Geralt?"

"Hmm?" 

Yellow eyes flicked up to watch Jaskier shuck off the last of his clothes and wade into a deeper section of the river near one of the waterfalls.

"Want to join me?" the bard asked, flicking water playfully in the Witcher's direction. 

It was all so wrong. Jaskier had been upbeat for the most part ever since waking up, but Geralt could not forget the screams or the broken way the bard flopped in his arms. He kept expecting it to happen again, and relaxing his readiness felt like daring the universe to hurt his bard again. 

"I should take Roach for a quick run to stretch her legs," he said. "I won't go far."

Jaskier's smile waned, but he nodded and dunked his head under the water, scrubbing at the dark locks. Geralt wanted nothing more than to be there beside him, their bodies naked while his calloused and scarred fingers map out clear pale skin. However, Jaskier had made it quite clear that he did not want anything sexual happening between them until his werewolf instincts were entirely purged. 

Making good on his excuse, Geralt saddled Roach and took her out for a brisk walk. He stayed within hearing distance, his enhanced senses stretched to their limit by the time he turned back. 

Jaskier was sunbathing, stark naked on the grass next to his bedroll when Geralt returned to camp. A quick glance at the sky told him that it would be at least another hour until the worst cravings hit again. His bard had been so strong through everything that had happened. He deserved a nice break. 

An idea occurred to the Witcher, and he grinned. After brushing Roach and setting her loose to graze, he moved over to their pile of packs. Geralt dug around Jaskier's belongings, pulling out a pot of floral smelling oil. He carried it over to the bard. 

Jaskier opened one eye at Geralt's approach. "Hi," he said with a soft smile. 

"Turn over." 

The younger man opened both eyes and lifted himself up on his elbows. "Why?" 

Geralt held up the pot of oil. "Massage," he said simply. 

Both of Jaskier's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "Oh." 

He turned over onto his stomach. Geralt knelt beside him and let himself enjoy the naked view for a moment before he got to work. This was something he knew how to do. After some training drills at Kaer Morhen, the young Witchers would massage numbing agents into each other's muscles to stop the burning pain so they could keep going. It had never been for relaxation, but the principles were the same. 

"Oh, gods, Geralt," Jaskier groaned in ecstasy as an unusually large knot finally loosed. "Mmm. So good. You have the hands of a god." 

The words and tone did strange things to the Witcher. He understood sex, so his body's reaction was not all that unexpected, but the intense feeling bubbling up in his chest was new. This must be what looking into the heart of a sun felt like. It was blinding and painful and awe-inspiring. His hands never paused their ministrations, but Geralt felt something shift inside of him. Love felt too small a word for this feeling, or he just did not understand it as well as he thought. 

"Oh, _yes_! Why have we not done this sooner," Jaskier moaned, arching his back when Geralt hit a more sensitive spot. "Melitele, save me." 

The man had a point. This was easily the most turned on Geralt had felt in decades, and all it took was some oil and a pliant bard. He ached to do more than massage but kept from crossing that line by letting himself enjoy what they were sharing at the moment. His fingers curled around Jaskier's hips and kneaded into the perfect dips where his pelvis met his spine. 

Moans turned into whispered curses in an aching voice when Geralt moved even lower. He completely ignored the way both of their bodies were clearly interested in doing more. Instead, Geralt let himself enjoy smoothing his oil-slicked hands over his bard's perfectly pert ass, massaging thoroughly before moving down to the upper thighs. 

"God, Geralt," Jaskier breathed out the words.

-

Jaskier let his muscles turn into pudding under his Witcher's touch. He felt like he was becoming one with the earth by the time Geralt reached his feet. There was no way he was moving for at least a year after that lovely massage.

"That was amazing," he mumbled into the grass with a contented sigh once Geralt finally stopped. "I'll do you next time." 

"Hmmm." There was a rumble of pleased laughter under the hum. "Want something to eat?" 

"Nah. I'm good. Maybe I'll just float right through this next craving," the bard said with a blissful sigh. "Thanks, by the way." 

"Hmm." 

"I wish you could play the lute, Geralt. The only thing that would make this moment better is a nice background song," Jaskier mumbled. He giggled into the grass. "A lute would look so tiny in those giant Witcher hands of yours." 

There was silence in the clearing. It took a lot of work, but Jaskier forced his head to turn and look for Geralt. The Witcher was sitting next to their firepit. His long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed over at the ankles. He had Jaskier's lute in his hands, turning it over and studying it as if he had never actually looked at the instrument before. The bard's mouth went suddenly dry at the perfect picture. His gorgeous Witcher experimentally strummed a few discordant notes. 

"You're beautiful, love," Jaskier had not meant to say anything, unwilling to break the moment, but the words slipped out. 

Geralt's golden eyes flicked up and then back at the lute. Then he gingerly returned the instrument to Jaskier's little pile of worldly possessions. 

"Sorry," Geralt said. 

"No. No, you are fine. I would love to show you a few chords if you want," Jaskier said, pillowing his smiling face on his hands. "You looked like a natural." 

The Witcher shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms over his chest. "Hmmm. We'll see." 

That was when the cravings started. The grass beneath Jaskier's naked body became too course as his skin turned sensitive against the onslaught of images. He struggled to his feet and started pulling on his clothes. Geralt watched with a puckered brow but made no move. Jaskier grabbed his bedroll and set his back against a large boulder beside the river, cocooning himself against the coming onslaught. 

Golden tendrils of magic filled his vision, and the mage's voice was speaking as another new memory surfaced. It was like he was underwater, and everything that happened was above the surface, rippling and muted. His stomach ached with a need to consume. _Eat! Rend! Tear limb from limb with claws and teeth._

_Warm, delicious blood gushing out of a fresh heart to dribble down his furred chin._

The same images and sensations repeated themselves over and over until finally, the cravings tapered off, and Jaskier returned to the present. He was huddled under the bedroll, body shivering. Throwing the material to one side, he stood on trembling legs and made it a few yards towards the forest before vomiting. Jaskier hated those memories. Sometimes bits of them stuck around after the cravings. However, more often, just the remnant of _I did something awful_ was all that remained after the cravings were over. 

A hand settled on his shoulder, and a waterskin appeared next to his face. 

"Here," Geralt offered. 

Jaskier took a gulp, swished it around his mouth, and then spit it out. "Thanks." 

"Feeling better?" the Witcher asked as he rubbed comforting circles on Jaskier's back. "You seem to be coming out of them faster." 

Jaskier nodded. "Yeah, there was a memory, but I can't... it's gone now." 

Geralt's shoulders slumped in relief. "Okay. Come with me." 

He led the bard back to the fireplace and sat them down, pulling Jaskier into his lap. The bard snuggled into his Witcher's chest and let the man's unnatural heat ground him. 

"I wish these cravings and thoughts would stop," it had to be the thousandth time Jaskier had said those same words. 

"They will, in time," Geralt responded, curling his arms protectively around Jaskier. 

They sat, wrapped in each other's comforting embrace.

Neither noticed the approach of a dark figure weaving soundlessly through the trees. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all deserved that nice little spa moment. **happy sigh** And who is this mysterious person in black?! Mwahahahaha! 😈😈🥰 Sorry, this one was so short. I overworked my poor wrist doing my Real Life job and had to give it a rest.


	18. Under the Moonlit Sky (A.K.A Roach Does NOT Need to See That)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fluff continues!!!! (Thank D for getting me motivated with an awesome song! Got it written a lot faster than expected)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure the Real World got enough suckiness. We could all use an extra dose of "awwwwww" in our lives right now. I am so sorry you have to find out this way that I cannot write sex scenes to save my fangirl life. I am much better at dark angst. But I gave it the old college try.

“Kehvyn?” Jaskier asked dumbly, looking up at the cowled creature that had appeared apparently out of mid-air. 

Geralt lowered his arm from where it had gotten halfway to reaching for his sword. The Witcher looked disturbed at having been snuck up on so easily. He slipped Jaskier off his lap and stood, hands twitching at his side. 

“Took you long enough,” the Witcher groused, “better have good news.” 

A light hiss of laughter came from under the cowl. “Yesss. Much newsss. You mussst return to the cassstle immediately.” 

“Uhh, Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice had gone high and reedy. 

Returning to Toussaint could incite a lynching at best a very terrible flood of recovered memories at worst. Jaskier blinked for a moment and mentally turned those two things around. The Dark Watcher paced back and forth in front of them, clearly nervous in the forest. Fourteen claws clicked and clacked against one another as Kehvyn fidgeted. 

“Why do we need to return? Can you not heal him here?” Geralt demanded. 

“No. Yess.” There was a pregnant pause. “It’sss complicated.” 

“What happened after we left?” Jaskier asked, standing up and brushing grass off his pants. “Did the sorceress help? Also, is anyone else who was turned into a werewolf feeling...bitey?”

“The mage wasss motivated to remove their compulsssionsss. Asss he will be with yoursss when we return,” Kehvyn said. 

“Wait, why does he have to do it?” Jaskier asked, taking a step backward. 

Even thinking about seeing that tiny, evil man again was making him nauseous. Bloody images were pooling in the back of his mind. He could sense them even if they were beyond reach for the moment. Geralt came to stand next to the bard and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“I won’t let him hurt you,” the Witcher promised. “Are we sure it’s the only way?” he asked the creature. 

“Yesss.”

“Fine. We will head back at dawn, but if anyone tries to hurt Jaskier-” what appeared to be a wholly unconscious growl completed Geralt’s warning. 

That bemused laughter returned, hisses mixed with an odd breathing sound. Jaskier shuddered at the gooseflesh that tickled against his shirtsleeve. The Witcher used his grip on the younger man’s shoulder to pull him close in a protective embrace. 

“The Ducal Guardsss have been told to be on the lookout for you two. Sssimply asssk to ssspeak with Lady Dahna Glinna, and they will essscort you,” Kehvyn said. 

“Hmmm.”

Geralt nodded. The Dark Watcher’s tongue flicked out for a moment and then disappeared back under the cowl. With a friendly farewell wave of claws, the creature flashed into the forest like a traveling shadow. Jaskier was highly uncomfortable knowing that those things could flit around anywhere whenever they pleased. 

“Well, that was interesting,” Jaskier said too brightly to hide his nerves about having to see the mage face to face again. 

Geralt drew him in for a gentle kiss. He pulled back and smiled down at the bard. “I won’t leave your side. I’ll keep you safe.” 

Those words turned Jaskier’s muscles to mush, and he leaned into his Witcher’s hot warmth, hugging the other man close. 

“I know you will,” he breathed against Geralt’s neck. 

-

“So,” Jaskier started with an impish smile, “this might be our last night on earth.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes at his bard’s dramatics. “Everything will be fine.” 

The younger man curled against the Witcher’s side, blue gaze watching the dancing firelight. An early night had set, and stars twinkled high above them. Crickets chirped in the long grass, and Roach was still busy munching away at the clover, her tail swishing every once in a while. It was peaceful. Geralt was sorry they would be leaving it so soon. 

“But it might be our last night,” Jaskier pressed, turning so that he could capture Geralt’s face in his gentle, calloused hands. “And I want to spend it with you.” 

The Witcher’s breath hitched at the undercurrent of need in the words. He studied the bard, looking for any sign that this was just another compulsion brought on by the magic, but Jaskier seemed utterly calm and relaxed. He must have changed his mind about waiting. Maybe now that he knew a fix was near, things were not so dire. 

Geralt felt warmth shoot to his groin. 

“Yes,” he rumbled, unable to stop himself from surging forward to capture the bard’s lips. “ _Yes_ ,” he ground out again, sharing a breath with his bard. 

They tumbled sideways into the soft grass, hands exploring each other as their kiss deepened into something desperate and so long in coming. 

-

Roach flicked her ear to dislodge the lightning bug that had settled there. The mare chomped her way through another large mouthful of clover, taking a few more steps away from the two men to follow a trail of delicious purple blossoms. She blew out a noisy breath and inhaled the scent of pine, healthy earth, and whatever it was those crazy people were getting up to over by their hot light. 

She turned her head after a few more bites just to visually check in on her Witcher. He sounded mildly distressed, but all she could see was her two favorite people rolling around naked. Their pink bodies and strange acts were boring. As long as they were safe and content, the mare was happy to let them be ridiculous over on their side of the clearing away from her bountiful, luscious meal.

Everything was tinted with a sense of ease that left the horse feeling light on her feet. Roach knew they would be moving along soon enough, so she was determined to get her fill of the meadow. It was also good to see her Witcher and her human looking so happy. She could sense the love shared between them, even if there were no words to settle in her mind. The feeling of oneness and completeness seemed to encompass everything in the clearing. 

The two men’s breathing was picking up, whispers mixed with loud cries of emotions the horse could not clearly identify. She ignored it completely, figuring if it was consensual, it was none of her damn business. Instead, Roach let her thoughts wander between sensations of eating and the sounds of the forest around them. 

-

Jaskier rolled off of Geralt with a satiated moan. His fingertips trailed through the sticky mess along the Witcher’s stomach and came to rest on one hip. He squeezed just to feel the solid muscle and bone beneath. His senses felt heightened, and Jaskier wondered if this was how his Witcher felt all the time. The light night breeze was a wind against his bare skin, the grass sharp pinpricks, and the firelight overbright against the haze of pleasure still buzzing in his head. 

“That was nice,” Geralt said, playing with Jaskier’s other hand and kissing each finger in turn. 

The bard smiled gently up at this man who had changed his entire life for the better. Love surged through him in a wave, so intense his heart skipped a beat. Jaskier let himself bask in it. 

“Yeah, it really was,” he agreed dreamily. “About time, I say.” 

Geralt chuckled, lips turning up as they pressed into a knuckle of Jaskier’s finger. 

“Hmmm.” 

“We should get cleaned up.” 

“Yes.” 

Neither moved. Jaskier let his eyes flutter closed, and he rested his head on Geralt’s upper thigh. A large hand curled around his neck and shoulder, resting protectively in a way that made him feel safe from anything the world could possibly throw at them. 

Whatever came next, they would face it together. Right now, Jaskier felt like together there was nothing they could not overcome. 

He pressed a chaste kiss to the scarred skin beneath him and then let himself just float. For the first time in days, there was no hunger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say a quick thing unrelated to the fic.
> 
> Whoever you are, whatever you believe, wherever you live, YOU MATTER. You are loved. You are not alone. Things are going to be okay. 
> 
> ... I <3 you guys. 
> 
> And now a quick thing related to the fic. Let me know if you enjoyed Roach POV. I might visit it again. Roach POV is my jam, but this is my first attempt personally writing it.


	19. I Thought She'd Be Taller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter a rather underwhelming sorceress (or is it all an act?). Geralt worries about his bard. Jaskier looks forward to not biting anyone in the near future. The mage gets a treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been really moving, painful, eye-opening, jaw-dropping, heartwrenching, and, above all, filled with humanity. So, just wanted to take a quick moment here at the beginning of this story to say that whatever you're feeling about the world's events I hope you can find a little escape with our two boys as they go to face the mage and his cray-cray self. <3 You're all beautiful and you matter and you deserve a break from the world for the next 1,000+ words. <3

Toussaint looked just as beautiful as ever when they approached the next day. They were both riding, swaying with the mare's unhurried gait. The sun was out and bright. Unlike before, there were no workers in the fields, no passersby on the road. They had not seen another person since leaving their campsite earlier that morning. 

"Eerie," Jaskier muttered. 

There was an ominous slant to those brown suburban city roofs that were not there before—a hard line to the towers and deeper shadows within the archways. Even the water beyond seemed more brackish than blue. The bard knew it was probably all in his mind, but that was sort of the main problem. His mind. 

The cravings had stayed away significantly longer after he and Geralt had sex and even now felt muted somewhat. Jaskier was not sure if that was because he was just too distracted or if something was changing with the magic. Maybe Witcher cum had special healing powers, there really was no telling. He was not going to mention that particular theory to his Witcher. Still, it would not really matter if Kehvyn was right, and he had the rest of the werewolf compulsions removed in the next few hours. 

"You're thinking too loud," Geralt said. 

Jaskier loved the way that deep voice vibrated through his whole body when he was leaned back, totally relaxed, against the muscular Witcher's chest. Currently, it was covered in repaired armor - Geralt had insisted on fixing it their first day in the meadow - but that was comforting in its own way. Not even Ducal Guards would stand a chance against them. 

"Hmmm," he said back, taking a page out of his Witcher's book. 

That earned him a huffed laugh. The small puff of air warming his ear. He should turn nonverbal more often, Jaskier decided as he let his worries slip away. All that mattered was that they were together and safe. 

Roach chose that moment to give a throaty neigh. It sounded personal. Jaskier decided to provide her with an extra apple when they reached their destination. She had more than earned it. Honestly, he was a little surprised that the mare had not picked up on the residual magic affecting him. Animals were usually more observant, and Roach was brilliant. It left the bard feeling a little wrong-footed whenever he thought about it, so he tried not to. Instead, he let himself relish the sense of accomplishment that came from catching and bedding a Witcher. 

Out of all his carnal conquests, Geralt was easily the most magnificent. The Witcher treated him with reverence, golden eyes filled with hidden depths of love and devotion. Tingles ran down Jaskier's spine as he remembered the night before. It meant all the more that the man he had wanted for so long wanted him back. 

"Geralt?"

"Hmmm?" 

"Do you….would you ever consider….that is to say…." Jaskier bit his lip and tried to figure out the right word formula to elicit the desired response. 

"Spit it out," Geralt urged, not unkindly. 

"How long will you stay on the Path?" Jaskier knew it was a gamble to ask, but he held his breath anyway. 

"Until I grow too slow to survive," Geralt said. His tone was resolute and unyielding. "That is the way." 

"Oh. I see." 

"Problem?" Geralt asked. 

"No. Of course not. I knew. You had said once before. I just...well, figured I should check," the bard finished with a half-shrug. He did not feel like explaining himself. "Ask me later." 

"Hmm. Okay." His Witcher sounded ambiguous. 

That could mean Geralt felt no certain way about the question and Jaskier's reaction, or it could be the man's impenetrable poker face making an appearance. The bard decided it was best not to press the matter. Instead, he let his head loll to the side so he could watch birds playing in the breeze high up in the air. Their wings were stiff and stayed open to surf the wind. They would dive suddenly and then swoop back up, dancing together. It was beautiful. 

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to see the world through the eyes of a bird? Or any animal?" Jaskier asked quietly. 

"Some people would call me an animal - _have_ ," Geralt answered dryly. 

One corner of Jaskier's mouth twitched downward momentarily in disgust for the bigotry his beautiful Witcher faced. His golden eyed, golden hearted love deserved so much better. There was nothing for it, though. People would choose to believe what they wanted or educate themselves out of their ignorant ways and join the rest of the civilized world. Not that much of the Continent could call itself that. 

Jaskier sighed heavily. 

"Why do you ask?" Geralt prompted. 

Jaskier could tell from his tone that the other man simply wanted to distract the bard from whatever had caused that dramatic sigh. 

"I used to always wonder what it would be like. I would imagine how it must feel to tug nectar from a flower like a bee. How soft the forest carpet must be under the foot of a fox. What butterflies must think of this strange giant world." Jaskier let himself get lost in that innocent wonder again. Then he caught sight of Toussaint out of the corner of his eye, and reality crashed back into him like an ox cart. "I don't wonder anymore," he said flatly. 

Geralt tensed behind him, arms coming around Jaskier in a hug, hands settled protectively over his stomach and shoulder. 

"You remember what it was like as a wolf." It was not a question. 

"Yes. The oddness of the sensations and the distortion of angles all around. The ground was so close and the houses so tall. You were so far," Jaskier's voice broke. "I can still feel his nails sliding through my fur sometimes when I sleep." 

"Oh, Jaskier," Geralt's voice was thick with something. Most likely an emotion even the Witcher could not identify. 

"Hold me. Just hold me," Jaskier requested even though Geralt's embrace could not get much closer. He still felt so cold and hungry. Each step closer to Toussaint was a step closer to that animal thing he had been involuntarily changed into. "Please." 

"Always," Geralt promised, tightening his grip. 

Jaskier felt a tear slip down his cheek when soft lips brushed his crown. 

"I've got you, and I'm not letting go. Never," his Witcher said. 

-

Toussaint's Ducal Guard was a mixed bag. Geralt was not too worried when they approached the contingent guarding the gate. It was much larger than he would have anticipated, but apparently having a good eight solid blocks of carnage could turn a city on edge. The Witcher felt a weight settle on his shoulders as he resigned himself to whatever was about to happen. 

Roach walked straight past the first four guards. They had obviously been expecting the Witcher and let him approach the gate. Their leader strode over to stand in front of the mare. Roach eyed him critically and then snorted in his face. Geralt straightened and let his hands rest on Jaskier's hips. The message clear _mess with my bard and pay the price_. The soldier adjusted his sallet and looked the two riders over with a critical eye. 

"Geralt of Rivia and Julian Alfred Pankratz?" he asked. It was not rhetorically, as if there might be some other Witcher and bard pair in the vicinity. 

"Yes," Jaskier said. "We are here to speak with Lady Dahna Glinna. She is expecting us." 

The man nodded and motioned to his men. The gates opened. He began walking and pointed at Roach over his shoulder. "Follow me." 

They made their way slowly through the winding main street leading up to the castle. Their escort got them past all the guarded entrances with only a few whispered words or simple motions. The further into the castle they got the tenser Geralt felt. The stone walls seemed to slide a bit closer, the ceiling a bit lower, with each step they took. 

Jaskier took his hand and held it, giving him a gentle smile, but not saying anything. The bard had been uncharacteristically silent, which was one more alarm bell inside Geralt's head. He was so tense that when their escort stopped abruptly next to an opulent double door, he almost reached for his swords, ready to fight, but he caught the impulse in time and merely twitched his hand. Jaskier noticed, though, giving him a searching look. Geralt returned it with a half-grimace. 

The doors opened at some unseen command, and the Ducal Guard waved them in. However, he did not join them in the large waiting area beyond and instead closed them inside without another word. Geralt kept his body between Jaskier and the rest of the room. It was large, with vaulted ceilings and walls painted with glorious, vivid scenes of conquest and lovemaking. There were several golden chairs with plush red cushions. Then another set of closed double doors leading beyond. 

"Should we knock or something?" Jaskier asked hesitantly. 

Geralt shrugged. 

"Oh, very helpful," the bard rolled his eyes. "Can't you sense anything. Smell whether she's going to be any help or not." 

That earned the younger man a golden glare. "No." 

"Fine. I guess we should get comfortable then," Jaskier said, plopping unceremoniously down on one of the chairs. Geralt stayed standing, pacing so that he could see all corners of the room. It felt like a trap of some kind, but that might have been his anxiety over Jaskier's inevitable pain when they confronted the mage making him paranoid. This was why Witchers did not get attached. 

He heard soft footsteps approaching and the scent of flowers. Geralt turned to face the inner doors and kept Jaskier behind him. Magic wielders were wily, by and large selfish, and above all, dangerous. Recent events had proven that once again. 

Jaskier tried to stand up, but Geralt pushed him back into the seat. The bard took the hint and stayed put, craning his neck to see the doors around the Witcher. 

-

The Lady Dahna Glinna turned out to be a very matter of fact woman with none of the sensual teasing or languid power that slid off of Yennifer as natural as breathing. No, this sorceress stood ramrod straight, her plaited blond hair woven around her head like a very demure crown. Jaskier was a little disappointed because everything about her was dry. Her voice, body language, and words. She was the personification of the color slate gray. Jaskier would have to take a great degree of creative license if she made it into his songs. He wanted to bite her and see what happened. She probably tasted good, his wolf-self thought. He resisted the urge. 

Geralt seemed to have dismissed her as a threat. She probably smelled as dull and gray as she acted. The three of them were making their way down into the dungeons with the Lady Dahna Glinna leading the way. She had her hands clasped together in front of her pastel dress. 

"I will bring you to Vintak, and then he will ask something of you. Once you comply, he will remove the foundation of the spell from your mind," she said. 

"Uhh," Jaskier exchanged a slightly alarmed look with Geralt. "First, his name is Vintak? Really? _Vintak_? And second, what do you mean we will comply. With what?" 

She glanced at him over her shoulder, mouth pursed. "Vintak Ausslays. And I meant that he will require an exchange for the spell to be released." 

"Well, that cleared up exactly zero things," the bard whispered just loud enough for the Witcher to hear. He was relieved when Geralt hummed in agreement. 

"What sort of exchange? We talking body organ or giving up a secret and telling him I once had a crush on Yveld Thilet?" Jaskier pressed. 

He was starting to sweat as they got deeper into the lower levels of the castle, drawing ever nearer the mage who had torn away his humanity so easily. Geralt moved closer until they walked with their shoulders touching. It was comforting but did not quell the flutter of unease in his stomach. 

"You will see," Lady Glinna said simply. 

_Fuck_ , Jaskier mouthed to is Witcher. It was getting harder to keep his hands from trembling. Geralt's gait next to him stuttered for a moment, and he put his arm around Jaskier. The younger man was about to ask him what was wrong when the sorceress stopped in front of an iron door set into the stone. It had a small opening at the bottom that was shuttered and locked, apparently for shoving in food trays. 

This was it. Jaskier felt his heart skip a beat, and he swallowed back the knot in his throat. Lady Dahna Glinna turned her severe gaze on the bard. 

"The Witcher and I will remain out here. The mage cannot physically harm you beyond taking whatever you freely exchange, and there must be an exchange for this to work," she said. 

"Like hell he's going in there alone," Geralt growled, baring his overlong teeth.

The woman ignored him entirely, and a flick of her wrist had the door swinging open. Inside was cloaked in shadows. Jaskier reached out and squeezed Geralt's hand once. 

"I want it gone. If this is the only way," he let his words trail away into silence and then walked into the cell before his nerves could give out. 

The darkness inside seemed to swallow him whole, and the door clanged shut, causing Jaskier to jump. He backed up until he was flush against the reassuring metal, staring out into the unknown of the pitch-black cell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think <3 <3 <3 Hope you liked it! <3 <3 <3


	20. Ooops! I Broke Him Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt should have let Kehvyn kill the mage. Jaskier loses another piece of his soul. (Readers want to throw tomatoes at the writer).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING VIOLENT IMAGES

“Ahh, the famous bard,” a voice came out of the darkness. It sounded raw like the owner had been screaming for several days. “Come to get his wolf taken, hmm?”

“Ahh, the douchebag mage,” Jaskier mocked back in the same tone. He was running on pure bravado and was glad that the darkness hid his trembling legs. “I’ve not come to get anything taken from me - never again. I’m here to take something back. My humanity.” He felt his lips curling in a silent snarl as rage started to replace the fear. “Give me back my life.” 

“In good time, little bard, but fir-” Vintak’s words were cut off by a very unhealthy sounding wet cough. 

Jaskier thought he smelled blood. It made him want to lung forward and drain the other man dry. _A quick bite into the soft throat and a strong backward lurch would be enough to tear the carotid artery open. Then he could lap up the hot coppery liquid until his stomach was no longer an empty hole. Mmmm. Satiating, life-giving blood, and the tender flesh grinding between his teeth._

Jaskier returned to himself and found that he was across the cell, crowding the short mage against the wall, growling fiercely. He stopped the noise and backed away. He could not see the mage, but he could hear the repetitive clink of iron manacles shaking against one another and smell fresh piss. He had frightened the vulnerable man. Good. 

“Give me back what’s mine,” Jaskier demanded. The moment had drained some of his righteous anger, so it came out sounding weary. “Now.” 

“F-fine,” the mage stuttered. “First, I n-need something to break the spell. An exchange.”

“Yes, the sorceress mentioned. Tell me quickly,” Jaskier said. 

“Your love,” there was a dark undercurrent to the request that the bard could not parse out. “Whoever you love. Give me that. It will be strong enough to break the spell.”

“Geralt? Never!” Jaskier cried. 

Out in the dungeon hall, he could hear a distant scuffle but ignored it. His Witcher could handle whatever was going on out there. 

“Something else,” he demanded. 

There was a strangled sigh from across the cell. “Fine. You were a fighter. Took a lot stronger foundation to keep your mind caged. That is why the remnants are so strong. If you do not give me your love, then I require a physical toll,” the mage said. 

Jaskier felt himself nod, the weight on his chest lifting a bit. He could give a part of himself, but his love for Geralt was off the goddamns table. 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

There was a brief, gasping laughter in the darkness that set his teeth on edge and sent shivers of fear up his spine. It sounded triumphant. 

“You should have asked what the physical price was to be before agreeing, little bard, but it is done,” the mage said. 

Jaskier did not feel any different. He looked down at himself even though he knew in the darkness there was nothing to see. His hands felt over his face and body, but nothing seemed particularly off. Outside the door, someone made a sound of pain. Geralt must have knocked out whoever was attacking him. 

“What did you do?” he asked the mage, his own voice sounding far away. 

“Took my prize. Now, leave me to this hellhole in peace. The spell is gone from your mind,” Vintak said dismissively. 

The door behind him creaked open, and large hands pulled him out into the blinding light of the hallway. It took several long moments for his eyes to adjust after the complete blackness of the cell. Geralt was standing in front of him. Tears were staining his lashes and trailing down his pale cheeks. Beside him, Lady Dahna Glinna was staring with raised eyebrows and a mildly horrified expression. There was no one else in the hall, but Jaskier was too distracted to wonder about the sounds he had heard earlier. 

“What did he do to me?” Jaskier asked, terrified now to look down and see for himself. He searched Geralt’s stormy golden gaze, but it was hard to decipher. “What did he take?”

“It does not matter,” Lady Dahna Glinna snapped, seeming to get herself under control. She shot a murderous look at the closed cell door and then turned on her heel and started walking away. “Come.” 

-

Geralt did not move, instead letting the sorceress draw away. He brought his hands up to cup his bard’s face, thumbs running across soft cheekbones. The Witcher could see that Jaskier was frightened and needed to know the truth, but the words refused to come. They were clogged painfully in his throat. The Lady had needed to magically restrain him from killing the fucking mage. He still had to fight the urge to tear that inhuman piece of shit limb from limb, but Jaskier was his priority now. Making amends. 

“You’re crying, dear heart,” Jaskier said in a soft voice meant only for Geralt. Tenderness replaced the fear. “Tell me what he did, please?” 

A sob broke free. Just one. Nearly silent, cracking against his chest. Geralt pulled his love into a tight embrace and tried to push away the tears still streaming down his face. Then he pulled back so that he could look into Jaskier’s eyes when he broke his heart. This whole mess was his fault. He deserved punishment. 

“Your singing. He took away your singing. Glinna told me the moment it was done,” he said. 

“What?” Jaskier asked. “That’s preposterous, of course, I can still sing.” He opened his mouth, apparently to prove his point, but only a whistle of air came out. 

Looks of confusion and then horror slid across the bard’s face. His hands came up to grip Geralt’s shirt tightly, fists shaking. Unable to take that wide-eyed, pale look any longer, the Witcher tugged him into a quick kiss and then hugged him again, cradling the younger man’s head under his chin.

“I will fix it. I promise,” he said. 

“You promised you would protect me,” Jaskier said brokenly into his chest. The words were like knives, sinking deep under the skin. “You promised you wouldn’t let him hurt me. You...Geralt, he made me into nothing.”

“No. No one could ever do that,” Geralt said. 

“I want to get out of this castle. Away from...just away,” Jaskier said hallowly. 

The Witcher nodded. He kissed the top of the other man’s head and then took his hand to lead him out of the dungeons. The sorceress was waiting several hundred feet up the corridor face expressionless. Geralt hated her and wished he could blame her - blame anyone but himself - for what the mage had taken. She had already told him, in the moments before he retrieved Jaskier from the cell, that her magic could not undo it.

The Witcher resigned himself to spending the rest of his life, making this right. 

-

He felt numb through to his core. The world meant nothing. _He meant nothing_. What was a bard without his voice? Jaskier knew he was not the first musician to lose the ability to sing, and he knew that every single one of them eventually took their own lives. It was just a matter of time. Who wanted to live when there was no point. He was too old to take up a new occupation and, besides, being a bard was his entire identity, and it was all he wanted. 

Tears had yet to come, but Jaskier felt like he might never cry again or smile or laugh. His singing was gone and with it his very soul. 

Geralt was observing him, those golden eyes following his every move as they lead Roach away from the castle towards Toussaint proper. They ended up in the same inn, Geralt negotiating them a room. Jaskier had trouble listening to anything going on around him. If not for the Witcher directing him with gentle pulls and nudges, he would probably fall on the ground and never get up again. 

Once inside their room for the night, Jaskier let himself be lead to the bed where he collapsed gratefully like a puppet with the strings finally cut. That was all he had been to the mage, Jaskier realized. A puppet and plaything to be cut up and discarded for scraps the moment his usefulness faded. 

“Geralt,” he did not recognize his own voice. 

“Yes?” the Witcher knelt in front of him, between his knees, golden gaze steady but shadowed by something that Jaskier was too exhausted to assign an emotion. 

“Fuck me,” he had not known he was going to ask for that, but now that the idea was spoken, Jaskier realized that he wanted to be torn apart so that he could forget everything. Even if just for one blissful moment. 

“No.” 

He blinked stupidly at Geralt, surprised by the unexpected rejection. “What? Why not?” he demanded. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it last night.” 

“You are not thinking straight and I won’t…” Geralt seemingly could not finish, shaking his head and saying instead, “there must be some other way I can help.” 

Jaskier turned his gaze away from the Witcher and lay down, burrowing under the covers and drawing them over his head. “No. Nevermind,” he said, voice too loud in the cocoon of blankets. “You promised,” he did not mean to say them like a curse, but the words tasted sour on his tongue. “Just leave me alone.” 

Floorboards creaked as Geralt stood and retreated back to the chair by the fireplace. Jaskier heard him sit down and then silence. It was a long time before he could fall asleep. 

-

Jaskier had finally fallen asleep. Geralt scrubbed his face with both hands and leaned forward, resting his chin on his palms, elbows on his knees. He stared at the blanket-covered mound on the bed. He had broken the only thing in the world that mattered to him, and the Witcher had no idea how to fix it. 

He should have never come to Toussaint. Vow be damned. He had known it was a risk bringing the other man here to a city full of monsters. Geralt wanted to kill something very badly, but he refused to leave his friend. His lover…ex-lover. Jaskier’s look of betrayal when he had refused to give him the escape he so obviously wanted lingered behind Geralt’s eyes. 

He had to fight the strong urge to follow his training, push all emotions away to remain focused on the Path. It would be easy to strap on his swords, ride Roach out of the city and never see Jaskier again. He could cut off is feelings - every Witcher could, it was trained into their bones. Then, there would be nothing to avoid after a few more decades because the human would be dead. 

Even imagining Jaskier dead sent a shock of horror through the Witcher, a gasp punched out of his chest. Fuck. No, he could never leave Jaskier. That had been another promise he had made, and Geralt was determined to never fail again. The Witcher did not run from his fights. He grabbed them by the horns and stabbed them in the heart with a silver sword. 

No matter what happened next, Geralt refused to leave his bard, and Jaskier would continue to be a bard. He would fix this even if it took the rest of his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. 
> 
> You know how I promised never to hurt Jaskier again? Yeah, I sorta did not realize this little roadblock on the journey to GeraltxJaskier FOREVER was going to be quite so hard on them. In my head, it seemed a bit less...er....traumatizing. But turns out it hella traumatizing on our poor bard. No worries, the future has things in store for them both. So, I broke them a tiiiiinnnnnyyyyy amount more, but there's relief on the horizon for our boys. 
> 
> Don't kill me dead. DO give me feedback. O_O. How we feeling, guys??


	21. Roach is DONE With These Oblivious Assholes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roach is done. Geralt blames himself. Jaskier feels like a third wheel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost combined this chapter and the next one but then I went and overused my wrist so the next chapter is only half done and probably won't be up again for a few days. 😩 So, that's where we are with that. <3

They were back at the clearing, and three days had passed. Jaskier had been nearly silent the entire time, rarely looking him in the eye and keeping distant. The Witcher understood. He was responsible for everything. On the night of the first day, Geralt had hardened his heart against the stabbing pain of each rejection. Now he was mostly numb with just enough emotion left to be able to feel compassion for his love. Though even the love was walled off behind a thin layer of enforced neutrality. 

Geralt refused to push Jaskier. Acceptance and forgiveness, if it ever came, would not be forced. 

"I'm going hunting," the Witcher announced. 

Jaskier did not look up from his spot by the river where he was throwing pebbles into the water and watching the ripples, hastily disbanded by the current. The bard made no indication he had heard, but Geralt knew better than to wait for a reply. None would come. He slipped into the shadows of the forest. 

-

He knew Geralt was trying, and, honestly, it was not the Witcher's fault. None of it. Jaskier knew that on an intellectual level. In the same way, he knew how to restring a lute. However, it did little to assuage the fear rattling around in his chest and the painful constriction of his heart that left him breathless more often than he would like. What good was he as a person or traveling companion without his singing. 

There would be no coin, no spreading the message of acceptance, and no bartering for free room and board with a few sets. Jaskier knew his value, and right now, it was abysmal. Geralt would do better to leave him and find another companion. He could also walk the Path alone as he had for so many decades before Jaskier found him, but he knew that would not happen. 

Guilt was keeping Geralt tied to him. He had noticed the way that Geralt had cut himself off emotionally, the blank eyes and neutral expression. The Witcher obviously did not want him but did not have the heart to send him away because of guilt that did not even rightly belong to him. Jaskier sighed and threw another rock into the river. It was up to him to do the hard thing. 

He let the rest of the rocks drop out of his hand and then stood, brushing off his pants. Geralt would be gone for at least a few hours on his hunt. That was enough time for Jaskier to get well enough away that the Witcher would not be able to stop him out of some savior complex. Geralt deserved a clean break. 

Jaskier collected his things quickly. It took much more time and a handful of sugar cubes before he could convince Roach to let him get her prepared for the journey. Once she was ready with his flute and packs carefully fixed to her saddle, he took out his notebook and tore out a page. Geralt needed to know that it was not his fault and where Roach would be waiting for him. 

Sniffling as he completed the letter and folded it over, Jaskier scrubbed tears from his eyes. He placed the note on a boulder near the camp and put a rock on top to keep the wind from taking it. Then, without a backward glance, he mounted Roach and set her in the direction of the main road. 

-

Three rabbits and an unexpected pheasant later Geralt entered the camp. His blood froze when he saw the lack of horse and bard. The catch slid from his shoulders and plopped to the ground unnoticed. Jaskier's things were missing. 

Then he saw something white flutter, a piece of paper stuck under a stone. With a heavy heart and nausea roiling in his gut, Geralt approached and picked it up. For a moment, he thought of never opening it. If he had not read the words, he could pretend that Jaskier had not discarded him because of his incompetence. 

Witchers did not run away from things just because they were hard or hurt beyond any other pain. Geralt unfolded the paper and read the simple message it held. 

_Geralt,_  
_Roach will be waiting for you at an inn in the next town. I will make sure they treat her well, so do not worry. Take care of yourself on the Path. I do not want to hear the demise of the great Geralt of Rivia came at the hands of a drowner or kikimore._

_Be safe, dear heart, and do not look for me._

_-Jaskier_

The paper slipped out of numb fingers and flew away on the wind. Geralt closed his eyes and let his body slump to the ground. That was that. His bard no longer wanted him. The Witcher curled in on himself as the buried emotions reared their heads, howling in anguish. 

-

Roach was being difficult. Wanting to make good time, he had set her at a quick pace that ate up the dirt road. They were already miles away from camp when she stopped cooperating entirely. Jaskier checked her for the fifth time in as many minutes. The mare sidestepped until they were well off the path and had nearly run into a tree. He had to duck to keep from being pushed off the saddle by a branch. 

"Now, girl. I know this is hard, but you'll be back with Geralt in a few day's time, and then everything will be alright," he said in a soothing tone, hoping to settle her nerves. 

For all he knew, the mare had never traveled without the Witcher for at least the past decade, so it was no wonder she was fighting the sudden change. She got the bit in her teeth and started turning back. Jaskier hauled on the reigns with his full weight, leaning the opposite direction in the hopes that she would return to their original route. Instead, she kicked her back legs up in the air. With his body twisted off-balance, Jaskier found himself falling gracelessly to the ground. 

He groaned and glanced up. Roach was skittering across the road but had not taken off back to her master at full speed. That was something. Jaskier stood, brushing the dirt off his clothes as best he could, then slowly approached the horse, clucking with his tongue. Her dark eyes were wide, feet dancing nervously as she edged back the way they had come, keeping just out of Jaskier's reach. 

"Stubborn horse, I'm doing this for his own good, can't you see!" Jaskier cried in frustration, kicking a few pebbles with the toe of his boot. "Just let him be free of me, and then you can go back to how things were before." 

His eyes burned with unshed tears, and he sniffed, determined not to lose his resolve. If Roach would not ferry him to the next town, he would make it on foot. With some careful maneuvering, he was able to get a hold of his lute and pack. It took nearly thirty minutes of hopping alongside her for Jaskier to get them untied without damaging anything. Every few minutes, she would stop and try to bite him, but her heart must not have been in it because all he had were a few bruises. Once the bags were free, Jaskier set them over his shoulders and gave her a friendly pat on the rump. 

"Go back to him, Roach. You've been a good girl," Jaskier said, another sniff slurring his last words. 

Then he turned and set off for the town. Roach walked steadily away from him, back in the direction they had come, but every once in a while, when he glanced back, he would notice her turning back to watching him. It was a bittersweet parting, but really all he had wanted was a headstart on the Witcher. Jaskier had that. Then she disappeared around a far curve in the road, and he was well and truly alone. 

Jaskier did not blame Geralt even if he had been angry that the Witcher's promises had been broken so easily. He understood that Geralt was just a man, not a god. There was nothing he could have done against the mage's magic. He worried about the Witcher but knew leaving was the right thing to do. Geralt did not need someone weighing him down. 

The lute case bounced against his back with each step, a constant reminder of what he had lost. The tears came then, and he let them, not even trying to brush them away. There was nothing to see anyway, so he put one foot in front of the other and let the world dissolve into a blur. 

-

Roach wanted to run after her human. He had seemed so small and alone surrounded by forests on all sides. She knew that terrible things lurked in wooded areas and had the scars on her legs and withers to prove it. The mare kicked at the ground with her foot and turned in a tight circle as her thoughts and drives clashed. 

Her human was unguarded, but her Witcher was abandoned. Neither of these things was acceptable to Roach. She stopped and huffed out a large lungful of air, trying to find the right direction to take. 

Humans were fragile and squishy and so easy to knock over. She started trotting back towards Jaskier and then stopped and reared, turning on her back legs and taking off at a hard gallop toward her Witcher. 

He would know how to protect the human. Her Witcher was a soft heart, and she did not want him to think she had left him for good. That might cause a deeper wound than any creature. She picked up speed, her mane flying wild, nostrils snorting out each breath. Once Roach found her Witcher, she could lead him to their human, and he would fix everything. Roach would be damned if these two idiots were hurt on her watch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. Love you guys <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 Have a beautiful day!


	22. Roach to the Rescue!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys finally talk. Roach needs like ALL the apples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! The road to recovery begins. <3

  
Geralt did not know how long he wasted kneeling in the grass of their campsite. It could have been minutes or hours. Every moment Jaskier had gotten further away. Even if the bard no longer trusted him. Geralt was determined not to let the other man leave without at least trying. The Witcher clenched his jaw against the instant wave of self-hatred and shame at his many weaknesses. 

He carefully gathered his gear together and fastened it around his sword case on his back so that his hands were free. Then he started off towards the road. The next town was probably a good half-days ride away, and with the hours worth of headstart Jaskier had the bard might have already reached it. Geralt wanted to run as fast as he could after the man, but sprinting would just tire him out, making him take longer. Instead, he set out at a steady jog and hoped that Jaskier would stay the night in the town instead of instantly departing to places unknown. 

Birds chirped busily up in the trees, and he could hear a fox chasing several squirrels off to his left. The rabbits and pheasant he had caught had been left behind in the meadow for a scavenger to feast on. Geralt had not wanted to spend the time dressing them or carrying them slung over his back for however long this trek would take before he caught up with the bard. 

Every far away curve in the trail left him hoping that it would reveal Jaskier returning on Roach. After the tenth disappointing turn, he stopped looking ahead. Instead, he focused on the ground in front of him, watching it flash past under his fast, but sustainable pace.

It was nearly an hour before he heard the approach of hoofbeats at the edge of his enhanced senses and glanced up. Far in the distance, he saw a familiar brown blur approaching, and his heart swelled. It was another few minutes before Roach was close enough for him to see that the saddle was empty, and the hope that had warmed his chest extinguished. 

After another ten minutes, Roach slid to a halt beside him, her sides heaving and flecks of foam covering her sweat-drenched coat. Geralt patted her neck soothingly and took in a deep breath. There was no blood, just the residual smell of Jaskier's honeysuckle scent and Roach's acute anxiety. That did little to quell the worry that something terrible had happened to his bard. 

"Woah, girl. It's okay, Roach," he rumbled, holding her head in his hands. "Where's Jaskier?" 

She was clearly exhausted but turned the way she had come and started back at a fast walk, nose flaring. Geralt did not want to push her and instead followed along at her side. He noticed that Jaskier's bags and lute were nowhere in sight, which was hopefully a good sign. 

Either the bard had voluntarily parted ways with Roach despite his note saying she would be waiting in the next town or they had met bandits who had stolen off with Jaskier and his things. Roach was a wily one, so Geralt had no doubt she could get herself away from a couple bandits, but Jaskier was prone to saying the wrong things at precisely the worst time. 

"What happened, girl?" Geralt asked the mare. 

She walked with her head low, breathing slowly turning back to normal. After some distance of even walking, the mare began picking up speed. She bit Geralt's armor and pushed him back towards the stirrups. The Witcher got the message and reluctantly jumped up into the saddle. As soon as he was balanced, Roach took off like a shot down the road. 

"Not so fast, girl," he said, smoothing a rough hand down her neck. "You'll hurt yourself." 

The horse ignored him, her ears focused forward. Geralt felt his worry build with each moment. Roach was intelligent. Jaskier must be in real danger if she was this frantic. He settled back and ducked his head to avoid the sting of her flying mane and then loosened the reins so that she had full control. 

-

Jaskier took out Filavandrel's lute as he walked and held it out in front of him. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. The wood was a rich deep brown that shone in the sunlight that filtered down through the trees. Golden lines knotted their way in a beautiful swirl of color around the central rose. He plucked a string. Without thinking, his mouth opened to hum a few bars, but no sound came out. Jaskier thrust the lute back in its case with harsh movements, angry at himself for having taken it out in the first place. 

The urge to throw it away into the forest and run was challenging to overcome. Still, Jaskier knew it was impulse and nothing more. The lute had been a precious gift and his companion on the road for so long. There was no way he could part with the beautiful lute even if he was never able to sing again. There were always purely musical pieces he could play. Unfortunately, tavern goers were rarely the type to enjoy an instrumental version of _Her Sweet Kiss_. 

The sound of a rider coming up fast behind him had Jaskier moving over until he was walking through the knee-high grass on the side of the road. His gaze never deviated from the tip of his boots as they parted the greenery. Whoever it was seemed to be in a hurry anyway, so there was no point drawing attention to himself. 

"Jaskier! Jaskier!" the familiar voice was growing quickly closer. 

He glanced up just in time to see Roach skid to a halt about a hundred feet away. The mare looked horrible. Her legs were visibly shaking, her sides heaving to bring in enough oxygen. Jaskier's heart lurched in his chest at the thought that he had caused her to be used so badly. He wanted to pet her head, give a nice rub down and freshwater, and beg her forgiveness. However, there was Geralt to consider. 

Cautiously, Jaskier raised his gaze to the Witcher and stared into the penetrating yellow eyes that were searching him for something. Injury perhaps. He stuck out his arms, palms up, to show he was fine. 

"What are you doing?" Geralt demanded, stepping out of the saddle and stalking in Jaskier's direction. 

"Umm," he honestly had no clear answer. It had seemed so perfectly simple in the meadow. However, now with an angry Witcher pacing towards him, jaw clenched tight and white hair ruined by the speed at which he had been riding, Jaskier found himself at a loss. "Walking. Towards. Uh, town?" he offered weakly. 

-

His bard seemed utterly caught off guard as if he had never considered that Geralt would actually come after him. That hurt worse than any monster bite. Closing the distance between them, the Witcher stood less than a foot away from Jaskier and breathed too heavily as his mind and body tried to find some kind of balance against the whirlwind of emotion wreaking havoc inside. Jaskier's blue eyes were wide, and he was holding his breath. 

Geralt pulled Jaskier into his arms, making a small animal sound that may have been a whimper or a wordless accusation. The hug was probably too tight for the human and would leave bruises. He was unable to control himself, and Jaskier did not even attempt to wiggle away. 

"Why?" Geralt asked, voice muffled by the thick, dark locks. 

"I didn't want to hurt you, dear heart," Jaskier said into the crook of his neck. 

Geralt pulled back slightly so that he could look into his bard's eyes again. "That was the only way you could have," he admitted. 

Jaskier's breath hitched. "What? I thought…" he trailed off, looking away. 

"Thought what?" Geralt asked softly. 

"I thought you didn't want me," Jaskier admitted, dipping his head until his chin touched his chest. "I'm not useful anymore. I'm broken, Geralt." 

"No," he whispered fiercely. 

The Witcher put a finger under Jaskier's chin and gently raised it so that he could kiss him chastely on the mouth. A tear slipped down the bard's cheek, and Geralt wiped it away with his thumb. 

"You're not broken, and the only thing that I ever wanted was you," the Witcher admitted. 

"Then why," Jaskier threw up his hands in frustration, pulling away from the embrace so that he could pace several steps away and then back. "Why were you acting so distant. I thought you were keeping me around out of guilt." 

"Oh, Jaskier," Geralt felt his hard heart break just a bit more at the words. "No. Never. I was...trying to not mess up again. I made so many mistakes that got you hurt. All of this is my fault." 

The bard froze, his mouth pulled down in a frown. "What are you talking about? None of this is your fault. It's all my fault." 

They stared at one another for a long moment before the bard broke down into hysterical giggles. Jaskier leaned forward to rest his weight on the Witcher. The vibrations of his laughter traveling through the armor. Geralt had never felt anything so wonderful. 

"Wait, wait," Jaskier said, wiping more tears away through his giggles. "Did we both just spend the last week hurting each other because we did not want to hurt each other?" 

"Hmmm." 

"Thank the gods for Roach," Jaskier laughed. He pointed towards the mare who was now resting in the middle of the road. "We really should talk about this more, but, for now, I'm just glad you are here." 

"Hmm," Geralt agreed wordlessly. 

They drew together into another, deeper kiss. It lasted until Jaskier was forced to pull away for air. The bard traced his fingers over Geralt's face, and the Witcher wondered what he had ever done to earn this gift. 

"Forgive me, love," Jaskier said. 

"Nothing to forgive," Geralt decided, letting his own fingers run along Jaskier's kiss-swollen lips. "Forgive me?" 

"Nothing to forgive," Jaskier echoed with a small smile that made its way to his eyes. 

He pulled the Witcher down onto the soft grass. Geralt let him, feeling relief so strongly he could taste it. Jaskier was not lost to him after all. 

-

Her human and Witcher kissed and groped, exploring each other's bodies until shadows began to lengthen, and Roach gave up waiting for them to come to their senses. She huffed and stamped on the ground, sending pebbles flying in all directions. The human laughed, and then they both stood and came to her side. Roach snuffled them both and then turned her head back towards the meadow and started walking. She checked after a few feet and was rewarded with the sight of her human and Witcher following. They were arm-in-arm and walking at a relaxed pace. 

They were going to be fine. She was relieved that no one was injured even though her body was still feeling a bit sluggish from running. She wanted the spring water and clover patch. Then the two men could frolic near their hot light all night long if that is what their hearts desired. 

Roach picked up her head and whinnied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. I struggled with this chapter quite a bit and initially, there was MUCH longer conversation but then I realized they've been traveling together so long a little push would show them they're being freaking idiots. :P Let me know your thoughts. <3 <3 <3 I heart you all <3 <3 <3


	23. A Wild Yennefer Appears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer might be able to help. Geralt and Jaskier stay on the same page. Roach just wants to eat her damn clover in peace.

Jaskier sat with his back against Geralt’s chest, body spread out between the Witcher’s bent knees. A warm fire crackled, sending sparks up into the pink-gold sky of sunset. His belly was full of rabbit stew, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the bard was content. The only piece missing was his music. He sighed heavily. Geralt hugged him closer. 

“We’ll fix it,” he said, voice a low rumble. 

“Don’t promise again,” Jaskier begged. “That’s still too fresh.” 

“Alright,” the Witcher agreed. “I won’t promise, but we will fix it. I’ve been thinking and...I might have an idea.” 

Jaskier stilled his heart racing. “Yeah?” 

“Yennefer.” 

“Shit,” Jaskier groaned, letting his head loll back, eyes closed. Geralt was right. If anyone was strong enough to counter the mage’s spell, it would be Yennefer of Vengerberg. “Fuck my life.” 

“Hmmm.” the Witcher did not sound too thrilled about it either. “I had hoped we could avoid bringing her into it,” he admitted. 

“Thanks,” Jaskier said with a wobbly smile. “Do we even know how to find her?” 

“I still have the xenovox she gave me,” Geralt admitted. 

“Well, at least she can’t do any worse to me than that fucking mage,” Jaskier said bitterly. “Send for her tomorrow. I can’t deal with any more drama tonight.” 

Geralt leaned down and began kissing Jaskier’s jaw. The younger man pushed into the touch letting out a soft gasp. 

“Love, maybe we should get out of these clothes,” he suggested without making a move to draw away from the trail of butterfly kisses Geralt dropped along his neck. 

“Hmmm.” 

A thrum of arousal and happiness filled Jaskier up. He relaxed into his Witcher’s touches even as his fingers fumbled to loosen suddenly too-tight pants. Behind him, Geralt gave a pleasing rumble. The sound went straight to Jaskier’s cock. 

“Clothes. Off. Now,” he ordered, shucking his shirt over his head. 

Geralt pulled away to divest himself of his own layers. Jaskier knelt forward and then turned to face the Witcher with a mischievous grin. He loved watching the man strip with all his thick muscles and pale, scarred skin. 

“You’re beautiful, dear heart,” he whispered reverently. 

Yellow eyes glared pointedly at the clothes Jaskier was still wearing. He laughed and finished shedding them. Whatever the next day would bring, at least he would have the love of his life there to help him through it. 

Nothing seemed lost between them even if they had spent the last several weeks being complete idiots. Once they were both naked, Jaskier pinned the Witcher to the ground, determined to show him how much he was loved. 

-

Violet eyes blinked slowly open, limbs stretching languidly in the spotted sunlight breaking through the clouds outside. Yennefer took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She turned onto her side and let the silken sheets slip against her bare skin. The delicious feeling made her grin. The window beside her bed showed a colorful expanse of curated gardens. The smell of lilacs filled the room. 

“Yennefer, we need your help,” a familiar voice called from across the room. 

Her lips fell into a thin line. “Fuck.” 

She sat up. The sheets and fur blanket pooled on her lap as she listened to the Witcher detail his latest predicament. Her expression turned darker the longer she listened. When the xenovox finally grew silent, she padded over to the dresser where it was sitting. 

“Give me an hour,” Yennefer said. “It’ll cost you.” 

-

Geralt huffed out a breath of relief. Yennefer was going to help them, though if her tone was anything to go by, she was not happy about it. 

“An hour. Melitele save me. She’s probably going to demand something too valuable to give,” Jaskier moaned, “like my firstborn or my lute.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes at the bard’s dramatics. “Yennefer will demand fair payment,” he said. 

“Fair. The only thing fair about that woman is her unnaturally good looks,” the bard complained. 

Geralt’s relationship with Yennefer had been fraught and nearly nonexistent since the incident with the dragon. He could not deny that he was looking forward to seeing her again. The djinn’s curse made itself known in the pull of excitement, expectation, and hunger for her touch that seared through him. The Witcher pushed it away as he did any unwanted emotion. Still, it pulsed hot in the back of his mind. 

The hour ended quickly. 

-

The clearing filled with a sudden wind, and then a portal opened up, and a beautiful, dark-haired witch stepped out onto the grass. Roach snorted and gave a distressed whinny before retreating into the first stand of trees, watching with wide eyes. 

The mare recognized the sorceress as powerful and also the source of her Witcher’s deepest pains. The urge to run out and kick the woman was quite strong, but fear of her unnatural abilities kept the horse well away from what was happening in the camp. 

Her human and Witcher both smelled unhappy and looked uncomfortable in the witch’s presence. Honestly, she had just gotten them out of one mess, and now they had stepped into another one. 

Roach eyed her clover patch with a plaintive snuffle. Her tail flicked irritably, and she skirted the edge of the forest, eyeing the trio of people with suspicion. The last thing the mare wanted was to have to save them again, but she was ready. 

The scent of magic filled the air, sending Roach skittering back. She peeked around a couple of close-growing trees, wide eyes watching.

-

Yennefer had taken a seat on the cleanest looking boulder. The two men looked the same as ever, scruffy from the road and anxious about their latest predicament. She sighed heavily and started relaxing so that she could connect better with the ambient chaos. 

“Take a seat, gentlemen,” she instructed. “I’m going to go into Jaskier’s mind and see what this mage has done. It might take some time to trace the threads if he was as powerful as he sounds.” 

Geralt sat and pulled Jaskier onto his lap, protectively. Yennefer raised an eyebrow at the intimate and uncharacteristic action. She knew they harbored deep feelings for one another - two men did not travel together across the Continent for two decades otherwise. Still, it was surprising to see they had finally taken action on their feelings. 

“I will need to look into some of your thoughts briefly - those related to the magic cast on you. However, you should feel nothing,” the sorceress said. 

“That’s not exactly comforting,” Jaskier said, going for a light tone and missing by a mile. He was visibly trembling. 

Being manipulated by a magic wielder had obviously made him even more uncomfortable around her, which was unfortunate. Yennefer chose to ignore the tension and instead focused inward. First, she had to acknowledge the chaos linking her with the Witcher. It was always there, an impossibly strong, small thread, but with close proximity, it glowed a bit brighter. 

The djinn wish left her feeling a bit hollow at the loss of Geralt’s affections though she knew they were both feeling the magnetic draw that had sunk a hook into her navel. She ignored her inner turmoil and closed her eyes, falling into the magical membrane around them to search out any alien threads lurking within Jaskier’s mind. 

-

Jaskier tried not to imagine what Yennefer was doing in his mind. Geralt was holding him tight to stave off the worst of the tremors that were still betraying his fear to the world. Even though he had never liked Yennefer and barely trusted her, Jaskier knew she would keep to her word. Yet, only a little over a week had passed since that horrible day in Toussaint’s main square. The thought of someone else rifling around in his brain with the ability to change him again at will was terrifying. 

He looked around the clearing for something to distract himself and noticed for the first time that Roach seemed to have disappeared. That was unlike the mare. Jaskier had never known her to stray away from camp. 

“Geralt, where’s Roach?” he asked, barely loud enough for the Witcher to hear so as not to disturb or anger the sorceress as she worked. 

“She’s fine. Over by the clover, behind the trees,” Geralt responded just as softly. 

It took some squinting, but finally, Jaskier was able to make out her dark form camouflage among the trees. Every few moments, her lowered head would sneak out and take a bite of clover before disappearing behind the cover of the trees. 

“What in Melitele’s name is she doing?” he asked, flabbergasted at the odd actions. 

“Hmmm.” He felt Geralt’s shrug accompany the ambiguous hum. 

If the Witcher was not concerned, then Jaskier supposed the mare must be alright. He began to fidget with the hem of his doublet. 

Yennefer gasped and rocked in place, her violet eyes flashing open. Jaskier tensed. 

“Well,” the woman started, pinching the bridge of her nose, “that mage is going to die a very violent and prolonged death when I leave here.” Her voice was hard as ice. She lowered her hand and gave the bard a softer look. “I can give you back your voice bard, but it will come at a price.” 

“Yes, I know.” Jaskier sighed. “Law of Surprise?” he asked jokingly. 

“No. I mean that to relieve you of the magic binding your singing voice, I must unbind all of his residual magic from your mind,” she said, voice growing weary with what almost sounded like regret. “I do wish there was another way.”

“What do you mean? I thought he took away the wolf? That was the whole point. An exchange,” Jaskier said. 

“Yes. Well, before that, he meddled with your memory,” she admitted, rubbing her temple. “Only one memory, but it is quite bad. From what I can tell, your very mind rebels against it, and it is being trapped behind a wall. I will need to release it. You will relive that moment, and then you will be free entirely of that fucking mage’s magic.” 

“Memory? What….” Jaskier trailed off.

His vision began to fade a bit as something nudged the edge of his consciousness. Something red and bloody and smelling of fear. He shuddered and brought himself back to the present with a sharp intake of breath. Geralt held him tighter, pressing feather-light kisses to his crown despite their audience. 

“Before when you….when you screamed. The memory you recalled and then forgot again,” Geralt said, his voice hitching as he remembered the terrifying moment. 

It felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been upended over Jaskier’s head. “Oh. Fuck,” he groaned. 

Yennefer looked back and forth between them with her sharp gaze. “I am going to do it now. It will feel as if you are reliving it, and then, once the memory has been viewed, I will be able to destroy it. If you already know how he will react, prepare yourself,” she addressed the latter to Geralt. 

“Fuck,” the Witcher cursed under his breath. There were slight tremors in his hands where they lay along the bard’s stomach and shoulder.

“I’m ready,” Jaskier said, feeling anything but prepared to face whatever could make his Witcher so frightened. 

“Alright. One moment,” Yennefer said. She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it. <3 I am NOT confident with my ability to portray Yennefer so...er...let me know how I did.


	24. Breaking the Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt watches over his bard. Jaskier relives a memory. Yennefer got some killing needs doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took so long to get up. Been swamped with work articles the last week. 
> 
> WARNING VIOLENT IMAGERY

Geralt held his partner waiting for the moment that the memory surfaced. He steeled himself against the screams, the dead blue eyes, and whatever else was going to happen next. His heart was hidden behind an unmoving wall of ice. Whatever Jaskier needed, Geralt refused to let any of this touch him until this was all safely over. 

Beneath his hands, Jaskier began to tremble. His eyes were closed, hands clenching and unclenching, and soft mewling non-words of distress spilled over his lips. 

-

_Jaskier needed to go find Geralt and tell him that they had been wrong. Something was up._

_"Uh, Reese, I-I forgot something in my inn room," Jaskier hooked a thumb over his back as he took several steps away. "I'll just run and grab that real fast."_

_The man looked confused. "What? No, it's fine. We won't have long to wait."_

_"But it's-" the rest of Jaskier's excuse was cut off by a shriek of pain on the far side of the main square._

_Something was happening. There was a scuffle. People ran away from the source, and others who were further away moved towards it, trying to get a look. Jaskier hopped up to try and see over everyone's head. Someone screamed hysterically. Then, a cloud of blood droplets sprayed out into the air high enough for Jaskier to see it clearly. The red cloud hung in the air for a moment before being joined by more. A dismembered arm was flung forty feet into the air and then landed with a wet plop at Jaskier's feet._

_The crowd was now a stampede of running, screaming people trying to get out of the square. The bard was terrified. For a moment, he could do no more than stare down at the growing pool of blood at his feet. Bodies pushed against him, shoulders bouncing off his chest and elbows jostling him from side to side._

_Growls and animal howls had joined the cries of fear all around him._

_"People of Toussaint!" a voice boomed over the chaos._

_Jaskier's gaze tore away from the gore at his feet and looked to the right. A short man was standing on top of a stone wall, magic floated in the air around him. A mage. Fuck. He looked vaguely familiar. Jaskier realized with a sick twist of his gut that the man had been watching him play the previous day._

_"Meet your doom!" the little man continued, his voice unnaturally deep and carrying._

_Finally, coming to his senses, Jaskier let himself follow the flow of people towards an exit. His path was suddenly blocked by eight feet of fur and muscle. A werewolf. Double fuck._

_"Not that one!" the mage shouted, and the werewolf sniffed Jaskier before turning to bury its teeth in a woman nearby. She died in moments._

_"You - I know you! Bard!" the mage shouted._

_Jerked out of his daze, Jaskier looked over and saw tendrils of magic making their way towards him. He ran, pushing past people and avoiding the puddles of blood that were increasing with each passing moment. Then the magic caught up with him, and his limbs stopped working._

_Bones ground against one another as Jaskier felt his skin stretch to the breaking point. It felt like he was being torn to pieces in slow motion. His vision blurred, and the bard screamed._

_"Geralt!" he cried out in pain and fear._

_The world tilted sideways in a sickening twist, and then the bard was entirely replaced with senses, instincts, and hunger. He snapped at a hand that got too close, its owner jumping away with a scream and then stumbling on the flagstone to cower beneath him. He found himself falling forward onto all four feet, the ground coming up much closer than it had ever been before. He stalked towards the human, licking his lips, tongue running over large canine teeth._

_Jaskier shook his head to rid it of the sudden bloodlust, and he whined, running away from the human._

_"Oh, dear," a familiar-not-familiar voice was suddenly right next to him._

_The mage was standing nearby. A couple of werewolves were circling around him, snapping at anyone that got close. Jaskier froze, his fur standing on end._

_"You're a strong one. Aren't you?" the man asked. An evil little grin spread across his face. "I'll show you what you will become."_

_A hand, palm out, was thrust in his direction, and Jaskier found himself bowled over by bloody images._

_Insatiable hunger filled him, a great gaping maw of darkness at his very core, and his teeth gnashed together in need to fill it. There were people all around, and he zeroed in on one of the weakest, his claws making short work of the flesh and muscles. He felt himself tearing at a pregnant woman, and then her heart was in his mouth. He salivated around it. Before he could swallow, he heard the tiny, fluttery beat of a new life not yet born. He tore into the woman's stomach and looked down at the delicious morsel bleating out in pain and fear -_

_\- the illusion was broken by the mage who watched Jaskier writhe on the ground in horror at what he had just been forced to experience despite it not being real._

_"Yes, that is what you will become," the mage said, laughing maniacally._

_Jaskier wanted nothing more than to rip the man's throat out and lap up his blood. He lunged forward. His being howled with the need to tearrenddestory!_

The memory broke. For a moment, Jaskier felt his eyes flutter. The horror his werewolf self had felt at the images and sensations being thrust into his mind was still too fresh. The bard struggled weakly for a moment and then slumped back into darkness. 

-

Yennefer felt the last of the mage's magic shred under her power. The tether of that manipulated memory was no longer strong enough to hold. With a relieved sigh, she opened her violet eyes and looked down at the bard. 

He was unconscious. She smiled grimly at the Witcher. 

"It is done?" Geralt asked, his rough voice tinged with worry. 

"Yes," she said. "Your bard will wake and be back to his normal self." 

The relief was so palpable that Yennefer could practically taste it. She watched Geralt slump back, his arms loosening their death grip on the younger man. A shot of hot white jealousy flooded through her for a nano-second before she cut it off ruthlessly. She did not need anyone, much less the Witcher. She was Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg, and she was not going to let herself fall apart over the loss of something she never consented to in the first place. Djinns could all go die. 

Her excellent mood wholly ruined, she stood and opened a portal. 

"I'm going to pay that mage a visit. He won't live through it," she said without looking back. Then she walked through the portal and into an unmanned portion in the Toussaint castle's main hall. 

-

Some time passed before Jaskier stirred again. Geralt came over and knelt at his side. He had placed his bard on top of their bedroll once he realized that the younger man was not going to wake up anytime soon. Then he had gone about preparing a few potions and cleaning his weaponry. 

"G'rlt?" the bard asked. He smacked his lips together, dry tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. 

"Here, drink," he said. 

Geralt brought a waterskin over to his love and tipped it carefully against the man's chapped lips. Jaskier swallowed greedily before finally turning his head away with a frown. 

"What h'ppened?" he asked, voice sounding clearer but still weak to Geralt's ears. 

"Yennefer broke the mage's spell. You are free," the Witcher said. 

Hope blossomed across the bard's open face, and his wet lips turned up in a soft smile. "Yeah?" 

"Hmmm." Geralt nodded, setting aside the water skin. 

Jaskier cleared his throat painfully and then let out several wobbly notes that broke off into relieved giggles, which soon enough shifted into relieved sobs. Geralt let the man go through the range of emotions, letting one hand rest on his shoulder in support. After Jaskier was able to get himself under control, he glanced around the meadow, swiping at the tear tracks on his face. 

"Where's Yennefer?" he asked. 

"She's gone to kill the mage," Geralt said, not hiding the deep satisfaction in his voice. 

"Oh." 

"Hmmm." 

"Well, can't say he doesn't deserve it the fucking bastard. I wish I could have seen it," Jaskier said grimly. 

The Witcher moved forward and drew his bard into a warm hug, kissing the sensitive skin beneath his ear. 

"Wouldn't rather be here?" Geralt asked with a rumbling growl. 

"On second thought," Jaskier stammered around a moan of pleasure, "here's perfect." 

-

Yennefer stalked down the otherwise empty corridor of the castle dungeon. She could sense another sorceress close by, but whoever it was had not properly warded the building, and that was on them. She recognized the cell as soon as she reached it. Inside was evil. 

One flick of her hand tore the thick metal door off its hinges. She illuminated the bleak cell and stepped inside, using chaos to keep the filth from touching her shoes or skirt. 

"I expected more," she said with disdain, looking down her nose at the short mage that cowered before her with hands raised in surrender. 

"P-please, d-don't k-kill m-me," he begged. 

"The bard," Yennefer's voice was steel through the air, and she gave a satisfied smirk when the mage flinched away from it like a blow. "You hurt him. Now I'm going to kill you."

"P-please, I'll do any-anything," he was kneeling now, arms held up by the chains. 

The strong scent of piss filled the air. Yennefer rolled her eyes, putting one hand on her hip. "Honestly? You are nothing but a weak, disgusting, _pathetic little man_." 

"Yes, yes," he agreed quickly. "I am. Yes. Please, spare me." 

A mischievous glint flickered through her violet eyes. "Oh, I am going to do some much worse than kill you. We'll get there, in the end, but between now and then is going to be a whole lot of pain." 

The mage's pale face lengthened in an expression of pure terror, eyes bulging out of their sockets. Yennefer stroked one finger down the side of his face then grinned down at him, all teeth and anticipation. 

"Now, where to start."

-

Thank the gods. The horrible witch was gone, and her people once again smelled happy and content. Roach allowed herself a luxury she rarely indulged and lay down in the clover, letting her body rest after a long stressful day. She snuck a few nips of the sweet green grass, and every few minutes would visually check in with her human and Witcher, but they seemed to be doing just fine. 

The mare let out a soft whuffle of happiness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how you liked it <3 <3 <3 I heart you guys!! Have a beautiful week. <3
> 
> ....the time frames a but wishy-washy. Essentially Yennefer is killing the mage a tad before and also during the section where Jaskier wakes up. I moved Yennefer's bit around several times and it didn't fit great timewise anywhere so that's where it ended up. 😅


	25. Bittersweet Endings Become New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're coming up on the end of this tale, fellas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMGAWED!!! The entire universe conspired to make me not write this chapter. :P. My power went out for several days. Then our AC went out with high 90's temp. Then my wrist was hurting so badly....and, well....I was having all the feels about it coming to an end. omg. BUT, I got it done!! Haha! No power in the 'verse can stop me. ;D

Beautiful, clear song notes filled the clearing as Jaskier strummed away happily on his lute. The bard had never felt more content than he did at that moment, with Geralt's teeth marks hidden under the shoulder of his blouse and sweet music under his tongue. The Witcher was napping near Roach, laying with his head cradled by one of their packs, his eyes closed, hands clasped over his chest. 

He would never travel to Toussaint again, but Jaskier wanted to thank the kind old man who had shown him what it could have been like to have a real family. Old Ben had done so much for everyone, and Jaskier needed to repay him somehow. That need had driven him to write another song, _The Tale of Old Ben_ , which he hoped would one day make it to Toussaint where the man would finally know how much he was appreciated. 

Until then, Jaskier would keep tweaking the tune and the words for his gift until they were perfect. 

-

Sometime later, Geralt woke himself up with an undignified half-snore. Roach was staring down at him from above, her horse face taking up his whole vision. 

"Hello," he said, voice rough with sleep. 

The mare snorted a puff of hot air into his face and looked over at something to their left before trotting away. Geralt glanced over and saw that Jaskier was sunbathing again. He must have been swimming. The bare expanse of pale skin was broken only by the healing injuries from their time in the catacombs. At least they were healing well. 

Geralt dug the dark communication stone out of his pocket. His thumb rubbed over the spot on his chin, where Gilbert's fire sword has left a permanent mark with dipped, pink skin. They had both been marred by their encounters this time. It left a bitter taste in the Witcher's mouth. 

"Thank you, Kehvyn. For everything," he said quietly. 

Then, without a second thought, he threw the stone so that it landed under one of the waterfalls where nothing would disturb it. He no longer owed the Dark Watcher a debt, and he refused to create a new one no matter what his thankful heart may have to say on the subject. For better or for worse, Toussaint was no longer his problem. He would see that one of the other Witchers added it to their territory when he wintered in Kaer Morhen. 

A thought came to him then. The memory of holding Jaskier in his arms as they rode Roach back towards Toussaint and the question, _"How long will you stay on the Path?"_ in a tone that Geralt still did not understand. Longing perhaps or a sad wistfulness. 

He pondered the question again after everything they had endured. Some Witchers holed up after several long centuries on the Path. Usually, it was to teach as Vesemir did, but now that there would be no more Witchers to learn the old ways, there was no reason Geralt should not settle down somewhere safe with his love. 

People would suffer for it, but they would in the end anyway when he got too slow to dodge a knife, spell, or pair of armor rending teeth. Maybe retirement was not out of the question. Geralt would need to think about it some more before bringing it up to Jaskier. There was plenty of time, though. He knew that his bard was not done traveling and singing, and they both had decades left before settling down became a subject that would need revisiting. Geralt found himself more open to the possibility. 

Roach trotted over to his side and brushed her nose into his chest, large brown eyes staring into his own yellow gaze. He knew she wanted an apple. They had bought a bag of them from a nearby village the evening before when their stores had gotten too low to ignore. Ever since then, the mare had been subtly and not-so-subtly begging for her share. In fact, it was probably why she had been creepily staring at him while he slept. The horse was a damned menace. 

The Witcher groaned and stood, stretching his arms over his head to rid his joints of the last dredges of sleep. "C'mon, girl," he said. 

The sound must have woken Jaskier from his doze because the young man sat up and ran a hand through his thick dark hair. 

"Geralt," he said with a lazy wave of his fingers. 

"Jaskier," the Witcher echoed with a twitch of his lips. 

The bard laughed. A sound that Geralt had feared he would never hear again. It warmed his chest and set his blood buzzing pleasantly. 

"Any plans for the rest of the day?" Jaskier asked, his fingers absently tracing the edges of the wound across his chest. 

"Potions, hunt," Geralt replied succinctly.

He retrieved an apple and let Roach lip it off his hand. 

"Hmmm," his bard mused. "Sounds boring. We should check out that Wayfarers Tavern the butcher mentioned."

During their time at the market, Jaskier had asked about all the local taverns. He had learned that one had been built well away from the town about three miles away. An easy distance to travel before nightfall. 

"We could get a bath and a real bed," Jaskier said, then his blue eyes grew distant, and his smile softened. "I could sing."

"We'll head out after lunch," Geralt decided immediately. 

"Really?" Jaskier actually sounded surprised that it had not taken more wheedling on his part. "Thank you, Geralt." 

The Witcher shrugged, uncomfortable with the needless gratitude. "I need to see if there are any contracts in the area if we mean to stay for much longer. There were none in the town," he pointed out. 

"Yes, of course," Jaskier said with a knowing grin. "The contracts. It definitely has nothing to do with the promise of a nice hot bath." 

"Are you going to try out your new songs?" Geralt asked, patting Roach's neck. She lipped at his empty palm, and Geralt sighed, retrieving a second apple for the mare. "They sounded done last night." 

Jaskier stood and walked over to his pile of clothes, pulling them on. "Yes, they are, and I do want Old Ben to hear his soon, so I probably will debut them tonight." He wiggled himself into his pants, Geralt enjoying the show. "We can use the coin too." 

"Hmmm." 

They were coming dangerously close to having an empty coin bag. Geralt was counting on at least a few drowners being in the area. With a final pat on Roach's forehead, the Witcher started collecting what he would need for a healthy lunch. Then they would ride out. 

-

The Wayfarers Tavern was typically half-full and smelled of alcohol, piss, and frustration. Geralt tried to ignore the stench. He ordered some beer and then took a seat in a far corner, allowing the shadows to steal over his cloak. Jaskier was still at the counter, haggling a deal in exchange for his musical set. After several more minutes, he joined the Witcher. 

"We can get a room for the night, dinner, and a hot bath for one gold coin and my siren voice," he said with a happy smirk. 

"Sirens wail in comparison," Geralt said simply. 

The bard's cheeks blushed a bright crimson. "Looks like I don't have a monopoly on the poetic after all," he said. 

"Hmmm," he let the purposefully vague grunt fall between them. He took a long sip of his beer. 

Jaskier pulled his own drink over and emptied it in several long draws. "Time to sing for our dinner," he said with a delighted grin. 

Geralt settled back and watched his bard charm every single person inside the tavern. Something like relief pulled at his chest. They had almost lost this part of his bard. The Witcher knew it would not have dulled his feelings for the man in the slightest. However, being able to see the enjoyment Jaskier got out of the entertainment was enough to make Geralt fall even more in love with him. 

-

Jaskier waited until Geralt had finished his dinner and retired for the night before playing his retelling of their most recent adventure. _Toussaint for Your Trouble_ had been the working title, and it stuck. People were stomping in time with the beat and echoing the chorus by the end. The bard dipped into a royal bow before sliding his lute onto his back. 

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," he said. 

Coins flew through the air and rained down on the floorboards around him to the sound of cheers. It had been a good night, and the tavern was almost full of people having retrieved friends and loved ones to watch the set. The tavern owner gave him a nod of thanks when Jaskier ducked over and asked for the bath to be brought up.

He intended to show Geralt just how much he loved and appreciated his Witcher. They would take advantage of the warmth and comfort provided by the inn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left. <3 <3 <3 Let me know how you guys liked it!!


	26. The One With the Horse Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this epilogue, everyone gets a hot date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, you know how I said I was no good at writing sex scenes.....that still stands and especially applies to Roach so. I'm sorry. **hides face in shame** I still gave our fellas a ...erm, "happy" sendoff. ;) Figured they deserved it. :P

Geralt relaxed back into the scalding bathwater. The wooden tub was actually large enough for him to stretch out his legs, which was a first. He groaned in relief as his muscles relaxed. The water smelled of lavender, and some floral salt Jaskier had thrown into it was a dramatic flourish. The bard was stripping out of his own clothes. 

“I hope you do not mind some company,” Jaskier said belatedly as he slid into the water. He hissed at the high temperature, but after a long moment relaxed into it. “Wow. Wish there was a way to get one of these on the road,” the bard murmured as he twisted under the water so that he was sitting with his back to Geralt’s chest, cradled between the Witcher’s legs.

“Hmmm.” 

The Witcher gave himself a long moment to fantasize about what that reality would be like. Coming home to his bard after a day slashing, hacking, and killing only to be met with delightfully searing water and his love in his arms. His throat clicked dryly when he tried to swallow the image, and he let his eye fall shut—no use dreaming of never-could’s.

“I thought about what you said,” Geralt had not planned to speak, but his chest rumbled with the words. “Your question about how long I would be on the Path.” 

Jaskier’s body tensed. “Yes?” 

“Yes,” he did not elaborate. 

After several long moments of waiting, Jaskier turned his head, bringing up a wet hand to stroke the Witcher’s jaw. “Whatever you decided. I’m not going anywhere, Geralt,” the bard said softly. “I’m here. With you. As long as you’ll have me.” 

The Witcher surged forward and captured Jaskier’s mouth with his own in a kiss deep with love and longing. Jaskier moaned and flipped his body so that they were stretched out chest to chest. He knelt between Geralt’s thighs and long, thin arms that held surprising strength wound their way around his neck. Jaskier bit his lip playfully and then moved to suck kisses out of the skin around the scar on his chin. 

“I love you,” Geralt moaned toward the ceiling, his body pliant and needy under his bard. Teeth nipped at his chin and then neck, moving down. He let out a needy sound no one else would ever hear. “ _Please, Jaskier_.” 

“Mmmm. Anything you want, Geralt. I’m yours,” Jaskier replied, hot breath against pale skin. 

He dipped below the water to take the Witcher in his mouth, and Geralt arched his back, a muted shout bitten back behind his teeth. It felt like too much and not enough. Jaskier broke the water, hand taking over with languid pumps. Heat coiled around him, and it was all Geralt could do not to cry out his bard’s name. Jaskier grinned knowingly, but shy in a way the outgoing man rarely allowed himself. 

They shared a soft kiss that was mere lips pressed together. It sent a shot of want through Geralt so strong that he could not resist the urge to pull Jaskier flush against him. His hips jerked forward so that he could bury himself between their flushed bodies. Water splashed over the side of the overfull tub as he kept moving, Jaskier’s rhythm quickening as his own hips thrust forward. 

Needing more, Geralt gently removed Jaskier’s hand, bringing it up to kiss the knuckles before wrapping his own larger hand around both their lengths. Jaskier’s mouth opened, an obscene sound falling into the air between them that was already filled with grunts and sighs. They turned so that they were both on their sides, facing one another, Geralt’s scarred hand pumping between them at an increasing pace. 

“Geralt, I’m. Mmmm. I’m not gonna last long,” Jaskier said, eyes hooded and lips kiss-swollen. 

The Witcher reached out with his free hand and curled it around the younger man’s neck, thumb rubbing circles over the adam’s apple of his throat. Jaskier’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he came with a gasp, and breathy exhale that could have been Geralt’s name. He reached out with nimble fingers to circle Geralt’s nipples. The oversensitized nubs pebbled instantly. The Witcher used his grip on Jaskier to pull the other man over into a crushing kiss. He came with a shout that got buried behind Jaskier’s lips. 

They lay motionless except for the panting breaths between them. 

“We really must figure out how to get one of these on the road,” Jaskier said with a smirk as he slapped the side of the tub. 

Geralt laughed and let his head fall forward to rest on his bard’s shoulder. “Anything for you, my love,” he said. 

“My love,” Jaskier’s voice was soft, and he began to play with a few strands of the Witcher’s white hair. “I like the sound of that.” 

“Good.” 

They may not have everything figured out entirely, the Witcher realized, but they would. Jaskier was worth every effort. He curled around his bard and sighed happily. Jaskier kissed him on the forehead and then hugged him close. A quick spell heated the water so that they would have no reason to move for a long while. 

-

Outside the inn, Roach was watching the candlelight flickering in the room that smelled like her people. There was also the scent of apples somewhere tantalizingly close. She flicked her ear and kicked the stall door in frustration. She hoped they would hurry out for a midnight snack. One of them could usually be relied upon to stumble out at an early hour. 

There was a greeting huffle from the stall to her left, and Roach raised her head to look over the divider. A tall, palomino stallion whinnied and preened under her dark gaze. She lifted her head over the stall door and craned her neck so that she could lip at the stallion, ogling her handsome neighbor. He paced his stall, neck arched to show off his cascading locks and rippling muscles. 

On second thought, Roach decided firmly, she had better things to do than think of apples and her riders. One of the mare’s rarely used talents was her ability to open any stall lock. Geralt rarely gave her a reason to leave her quiet spaces, but a stallion wanting to introduce himself was too much of a temptation to pass up. She gave him a huff to wait a moment and then got to work, lipping the lock. 

It took only a few minutes before they were both snuggled up in his space. She thoughtfully locked the door behind her so that the stallion would not get any ideas about other mares in the neighborhood. Roach soaked up the flattering attention. Her ears fluttered when she caught a brief, very happy sounding shout from her Witcher, no doubt due to whatever her human was doing to him. She snickered in delight and then ignored the inn completely in favor of dancing around her new paramour. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thar she sails, mateys. <3 It's been a long run and a fun one. Thank you all for your comments and encouragement and just lovely messages. You're all freaking awesome!!!


End file.
